An Ember in the Dark
by ScottFox
Summary: Three years after activating Project Purity, the Wanderer finds himself drawn back into action and on a continent-spanning journey.
1. A New Day Dawns

**So this is my first go at this. Enjoy, feedback is welcome as always; more to come soon hopefully. **

June 30, 2281

It was just before dawn when the man's eyes fluttered open. He laid in the quiet stillness, listening to the slow, rhythmic breathing next to him. Moving slowly, he disengaged himself from the woman and got out of bed, limping to a chair at the opposite end of the room. Sitting, he took a deep breath and braced himself, before twisting his torso and drawing a string of pops from his back. The initial shock was quickly replaced by relief as his back relaxed and fell into place. His knee, however, was a different story. There was no amount of time or popping that would take the early-morning stiffness away, not with the ligaments as damaged as they were. The only remedy for that handicap was time. _Well, time and Med-X_, the man thought. He opened a drawer in the desk and carefully removed a syringe, tapping out any air bubbles before injecting it into his femoral artery. The pain began to dull almost immediately as the drug was carried back to his heart and then to his eagerly awaiting opioid receptors. Standing, the man quietly left the sleeping woman and limped down the stairs to the first floor. His butler, detecting his presence, sprung to life, prepared to serve his master.

"Good morning, sir!" the butler exclaimed, his English accent echoing through the metal house. The man flinched. He was not expecting to be assailed with noise this early. _Perhaps I should modify his hibernation parameters, _he thought to himself.

"Good morning, Wadsworth. Please keep your voice down, I don't want to wake our guest," he replied.

"Very well, sir," Wadsworth replied, his voice the mechanical version of a whisper. "You enjoyed your company, I hope?"

"Quite enjoyable, Wadsworth. I could use coffee."

"Of course, sir," the machine replied, beginning the process of making the drink. The beauty of having a robotic butler was its efficiency. While the man sat at the kitchen table and waited, the robot butler silently hovered across the room, precisely measuring out ingredients while internally boiling purified water. Up until three years ago, purified water was one of the most valuable commodities in this part of the country. It was more readily available now, but was still precious, mainly due to the utter lack of infrastructure needed to deliver it to everywhere it's needed. _Someday_, the man thought, _someday that problem will need to be fixed. But not today._ Wadsworth finished preparing the drink in about five minutes, and dispensed it into the man's waiting mug. Taking it, he walked back upstairs. The woman was still sleeping peacefully, so he quietly slipped out the door onto his deck, which doubled as the roof of a small bar and restaurant. Wearing only his underwear and a necklace, the man faced east and slowly, painfully sunk to his right knee, the one that wasn't totally destroyed. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and prayed. He thanked his God for granting him another dawn, before beginning one of the prayers his father taught him as a boy. "I believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty…"

His prayer took him no more than a minute. Finishing, he grasped the Cross at the end of his necklace and kissed it. Slowly rising to his feet, he shook his legs out before sitting back on his deck chair to enjoy the sunrise. It was already quite hot, but the man didn't mind. He enjoyed the feel of the sun warming his skin as it crested the horizon over Washington, DC. Even the barren desert could be beautiful in this light. He sipped his coffee, enjoying the silence of the small town as a new day broke. _What will this day hold,_ he wondered to himself? Perhaps he could go see if the town doctor needed any assistance. Or perhaps he would just anaesthetize himself at the bar with copious amounts of liquor. The joys of retirement were boundless. He finished his drink and sat in silence, the sun burning away the remaining chill of the night. After some time he heard the sounds of movement from the bedroom. The door had only begun to open when he spoke.

"Good morning, Lucy," he said, turning his head slightly to glance over his shoulder. She jumped slightly, obviously surprised by his greeting.

"How do you always do that, John?" she asked, shutting the door behind her. Lucy West was an attractive blonde in her late 20s, wearing a tank top and tight shorts. He smiled at her, showing a brief flash of the smile that had helped earn him his reputation as a lady-killer.

"I may not be quite as perceptive as I once was, but I can still hear, Lucy. That's one thing that hasn't left me," he replied as she brushed behind him and took a seat in the chair next to him.

"Oh, I don't know," she begins, smiling slyly. "You're certainly perceptive enough to pick up on what I need…"

"Imagine what I would have done to you in my prime, my dear."

"I can only imagine," she replied in a wistful tone. John laughed. This was part of why he liked the girl. She could tolerate his sarcasm and return it in kind. His last…liaison, as it were, had gone hilariously wrong because of the woman's inability to comprehend sarcasm. She lived in town as well, which had led to some awkward encounters after it ended. That was two years ago, though, and he was back on friendly terms with the girl now. This was important, seeing as she was the most successful trader in town, and his go to source for weapons and ammo on the rare occasion he needed it anymore. His travels had left him with a more than adequate supply of firepower, but he was hesitant to touch it. Even after close to two and a half years of peace, he couldn't let his guard down. If conflict ever returned whole heartedly to the Wastes, he had no one to count on but himself. His closest ally, the one thing he had that resembled a true friend, had been gone for over two years now, traveling what remained of the world. He had no family to turn to, and John didn't try and fool himself-while he was still respected, maybe even loved, by most of the citizens of this land, he wasn't needed. He was a war hero, and now it was peacetime. It made him slightly bitter-they lionized him without bothering to know him; and once he had done what they had needed they washed their hands of him. To them he was an avenger, a beacon to rally around, but ultimately a weapon of war. He knew; swore he was more than that; and at this point he had effectively ceased caring what the Wastes thought of him. If war ever returned to the Wastes, he often thought to himself, they could fend for themselves. In the end, what his whole predicament, this retirement he found himself in, boiled down to was his refusal, his inability, to play the role the Brotherhood had planned for him after peace was achieved; that of a dutiful, order following knight, one they could use as a recruitment ad to increase their numbers after years of war had taken their toll. He had a near peerless intellect, but with a whole order of Brotherhood scribes at the Citadel, his intellect wasn't needed. He was a gifted scientist and doctor; but the expansion of the Brotherhood and their own system of public service throughout the Wastes had meant he wasn't needed there, either. He had begun to see the end coming in the last months of the Purge, with every conversation between himself and Elder Lyons, the commander of the Brotherhood, or with his daughter, Sentinel Sarah Lyons, growing increasingly strained and terse. That was why after the war he gave the Wasteland one last sacrifice, turned away from the Brotherhood and his blossoming relationship with Sarah Lyons, and returned to the closest thing he had to a home, the small but growing town of Megaton, and began his self-imposed exile. _Still, it wasn't all bad,_ he thought to himself, looking over at the woman reclining in the chair next to him. He had all he needed-more caps than he'd ever use, a house, the respect of the town he lived in, and a good looking woman to keep him company at night. As if feeling his gaze on her, Lucy looked over at him.

"Do you have anything to do this morning?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not until ten or so…why?"

"Want to start the day off right?" he asked, grinning wolfishly. She smiled back at him.

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied, standing and leading him by the hand back inside. _This part of retirement I can live with,_ he thought as she peeled off his underwear.

* * *

_I have been gone too long,_ the caravan guard thought as he and his companions made their way along the broken roads and highways of the northern wastes. He could smell the scent of greenery as they came out of the mountains. The Oasis, the one living part of the Wastes, had undergone a wild expansion in the two years that he had been gone. Slowly, but surely, something that resembled the old world was returning to the wasteland here. He had seen much of nature on his travels, in places far from the areas that the bombs had fallen in, away from where the wind had blown the fallout. But in his mind he remembered the area around the old capital as a barren desert. And for the most part his memory had served him well. He adjusted his weapon under his oversized black duster. His companions had told him that in the time he had been gone, the main risk on the roads had become hostile wildlife. He and John had apparently been efficient beyond their wildest expectations when they cleansed the wasteland. They had first turned their attention to the threat posed by the super-mutant population in the area. It had not pained the caravan guard in the slightest to turn his weapons on his brothers who had tormented him for what felt like an eternity. Until his last day, destroying every trace of them would be one of his proudest achievements. After purging the super-mutants, they had set out to destroy the slavers and raiders of the area. That had proven to be more difficult than either the Enclave or the super-mutants, in some ways. But between his Gatling laser and John's staggering force of will, and with ample use of captured Enclave vertibirds, they had done it. And then, with the peace won, they parted ways. John had encouraged it, had even convinced one of his long-haul caravan contacts to take his super-mutant friend on. And so for two years Fawkes had traveled the remnants of the United States. He had made it all the way to the Pacific Ocean, traveled the roads of the New California Republic, seen the lights of the city they called New Vegas on the horizon. In the mountains west of there he had found the super-mutant community of Jacobstown, and had spent the better part of a year there, surrounded by others like him, fellow intelligent metahumans, as they called themselves. He had seen the world he dreamed of when he was locked in his observation room in Vault 87, and he had learned more than he could have imagined. He was eager to see what changes had shaped the Capital Wasteland, even more to share his new knowledge with his old brother in arms. After seeing the NCR, he half expected to return home to find John as the president of his own nascent nation. That was not the case, he learned as they had returned east. He had talked with other long-haulers who had been in DC. While it had remained peaceful, they were no closer to forming a unified state than they had been when he had left. The caravaners silence on the matter of his old friend had left Fawkes even more baffled. It made him even more anxious to finish the last leg of this haul and collect his cut. A happy side effect of his adventures as a caravan guard was an almost excessive amount of caps. Aside from his work as a guard, he had run a side business on the road as a salesman for John and Moira's survival guide. He had agreed to a 50/50 split with Moira before he left. She had initially balked at the split, but John had interceded and convinced Moira it was for the good of humanity. _It had probably helped that John had been sleeping with Moira at the time as well,_ Fawkes silently thought to himself. While he had no personal experience with romantic interactions, even he had found that to be a puzzling match. His unspoken fear was that he would find John settled down somewhere with a child by that strange, oblivious woman.

The sun had almost reached its apex and the day had become brutally hot, judging by the way his companions were sweating, but they were finally at their destination. _Finally home,_ he thought to himself as they began unpacking goods from the caravan. A woman came out to meet them as they did. Fawkes turned to face her and found the woman frozen, staring in momentary shock at the towering super-mutant in front of her. _Joanne,_ Fawkes thought to himself. John's contact. Realizing who he was, the woman found her voice and the words began tumbling out.

"Fawkes! We had begun to think that you had gone for good!"

"As you can see, I am very much returned. How is the Wasteland? I have missed it in my journeys," he responded.

"As quiet as the day you left, Fawkes. We heard rumors of you while you were gone from other caravaners. Are they true? Did you really never lose a trader under your protection?"

"Happily, those rumors are true. Barring any of my companions dying suddenly before we cash out, this caravan completes my 100% success rate."

"I take it you'll want to cash out and be on your way then?" Joanne replied.

"Indeed," Fawkes replied. The woman led him inside to calculate his pay.

Half an hour later, Fawkes stepped back outside with a considerably heavier purse. Joanne had also given him a bonus, as it were-where to find John and a promise to radio ahead to Lucas Simms and let him know Fawkes was coming, hopefully avoiding any unnecessary surprises that could lead to hostility when he arrived. Freed from his contract, Fawkes turned southwest and set off for Megaton.

* * *

It had been three and half years since Amata had become overseer. Three and a half mind numbing years. The only respite she ever found was going on the occasional trading run. She could still remember the first time she had stepped outside the vault; the blinding sun, the blistering heat. It was overwhelming, but she had loved it. By this point, she had been to most of the major settlements of the Capital Wasteland, as the inhabitants knew it. Most, but not all. She had never been to Megaton, and it was not by accident. She couldn't bring herself to face her first love after the way it had ended; the last time they saw each other. He had been calm, accepting of her decision that he had to leave. But she had grown up with him. She had seen the hurt in his eyes. Every trader from 101 that had encountered him in Megaton came back saying the same thing-that he was well and, as ever, he sent his love. And the whole vault had heard his legend now that they had access to Galaxy News Radio. But privately, Susie Mack, Amata's closest confidant, had told her about the other, darker things. His apparently multitudinous romantic liaisons with women across the wastes. The increasingly obvious descent into alcoholism. The subtle signs of chem abuse, namely Med-X. As Susie put it, the fire that had always been so obvious in him, the same one his father had possessed, had been put out. It made Amata sad to think her first love had fallen apart. And she wondered if it was her fault. She had tried to follow the example her father had set-put the Vault's needs before your own. And at that time, asking John to leave had seemed like it was best for the vault. And now, three and a half years later, she questioned her decision. Every day. She sighed, leaning back in her chair, looking at the two pictures on her desk. One was her with her father when she was 10. The other, resting next to it, was her and John when they were 17. He was standing behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, nose buried in the back of her hair. She was smiling that old, wide smile that she used to get when she was with him. She hadn't smiled like that in years. _And that didn't look to change anytime soon,_ she thought, glancing down at the stack of paperwork on her desk, awaiting her attention. She had no idea how her father had done it for as long as he had. The tedium and stress of the job was already driving her mad. And she was only 22. Could that be right? She felt so much older. It felt like her childhood, the happy days before she had taken over, was a lifetime ago. She glanced up at the calendar, as if to confirm to herself what the date was. June 30, 2281. John was still 22, for that matter. His birthday was in another two weeks. She glanced back at the paperwork on her desk, and then over to the picture that summoned a thousand memories with a single look. Two weeks. Maybe it was time. _Maybe,_ she thought, _I can fix things._ She had given up her life for the Vault. Even with the new residents that had come in following the semi-opening of the Vault, it was a quiet place. _Dammit,_ she thought to herself, waging an internal struggle. Every fiber of her being wanted to go to Megaton, as if being pulled by a magnet towards her old lover. There was a small group that had grown up with them in 101 heading to Megaton for John's birthday. They had planned it over the radio with the sheriff, Simms. She could join them, finally make the trip to Megaton and attempt to set things right. Almost all the lingering tensions that had existed in the weeks and months following James and John's escapes had disappeared. And if Butch DeLoria could become friends with John, anyone could. She desperately wanted to join the group going to Megaton. Every time she thought about it, though, her father's voice began ringing in her ears. Every lecture about duty, and responsibility, and yes, about how John wasn't good for her. She hadn't known when she took the job what a burden power was. She was beginning to understand, perhaps, why her old flame had stepped back from the world, rather than taking center stage. Making decisions for more than yourself was the heaviest burden to bear, Amata was beginning to think. She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of the door opening, the hydraulics in it hissing as it lifted. Susie Mack strode in, pulling up a seat without bothering to ask permission and sitting in it backwards to look at Amata.

"What's up?" Susie asked, straightforward as ever. She and Amata hadn't been particularly close as children, but had become good friends as they'd grown up and eventually revolted together against the old Vault authority. Susie's father had been one of Amata's father's main security personnel, but Susie was nowhere near as violent or easily commanded as her father. She had become Amata's right hand, going on trading runs and bringing back news of the Wastes. She had told Amata all about the war, the legend that had sprung up around John, his various relationships, the rumors about him…and then she had seen him for herself in Megaton the first time she led a trading mission there. She had come to Amata the evening they had returned, when there were less people to overhear the conversation, and told Amata about it. They had run into him sitting at an outdoor bar, drinking quietly by himself. He had jumped up when he saw them and hugged Susie; which she had found odd as they hadn't been at all close as children. She had smelled the liquor on him and could tell he was drunk; and it was only 4:00 PM. The trade run had gotten a late start that day and, as evening was falling anyway, they decided to spend the night in Megaton catching up. He had come to see them off the next morning, and that's when Susie had picked up on his darker secret: he was, she suspected, addicted to Med-X. He was sweating at 8:00 AM, and his eyes were…strange. The pupils were practically needle heads, and he kept glancing around as if he were looking for something. According to Susie, his personality was largely the same, still the big, friendly, tolerant person he had been growing up; but he looked resigned, for lack of a better word. Apathetic. In Susie's words, he just didn't give a shit anymore.

"Oh, nothing," Amata replied lazily. "Just another wonderful day of paperwork. Sarah Hill is convinced that one of the new residents, Tommy Werner, has been stealing from her quarters. She filed a request that security investigate it. She's actually filed 5 requests for that, now. And then Sasha Patrick accused one of the Gomez boys of making an unwelcome advance on her. I had to listen to her rant for 10 minutes. That's about the extent of my day. You?"

"Same shit as ever. Couple of traders will be coming by next week. Other than that, nothing." Susie paused for a moment before continuing. "A group of us want to go to Rivet City to kick off the 4th of July weekend. They asked me to come talk to you about it."

"You know they don't celebrate the 4th above ground, right?" Amata replied.

"I know. But it's as good an excuse as any to get out of here and go get drunk around a different crowd. Maybe see how Butch is doing." Amata laughed at that. She had a point. The Vault could get claustrophobic, especially now that everyone knew what the outside world was like. And Butch, the Vault bully from their childhood, was now living in Rivet City, working as the resident stylist…or barber, as he was quick to point out if you called him a stylist.

"Fair enough," she replied. "You have my permission. I'll let security know to open the door for you tomorrow. You'll be staying in Rivet City the night, then?"

"Yeah, we're getting rooms at the Weatherly. You should come with us. You look like you need a break," Susie replied. Amata smiled faintly and sighed, tipping her chair back on its rear legs a little as she leaned back.

"I wish I could, but I should stay down here and keep an eye on things. Thanks for thinking of me, though," Amata replied.

"Fair enough. If you change your mind, you know where to find me," Susie said, standing to leave the room. "I'll catch you tomorrow," she finished as she walked to the door.

"Have a good evening, Susie," Amata replied as her friend left. The offer to go to Rivet City was tempting, but she felt bad leaving the Vault too often. Especially with new residents living in it, she wanted to be there in case something came up. Her father had trained her well: the Vault before her own needs or desires, always. Amata sometimes felt a tightening in her stomach thinking that this is what the rest of her life would be. _There has to be more than this. God, let there be more than just this. _


	2. The Power of Pride

**Short chapter here. Like a genius, I left my notebook at home so the much larger subsequent chapter will have to wait until whenever it is that I get home to get wrapped up and published. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.**

"Alpha team, move! We've got you covered!" Sarah Lyons yelled over the sound of Paladin Glade's mini-gun roaring to life. Paladin Kodiak didn't hesitate before rushing forward with his team to a pile of rubble 15 meters in front of them and sliding behind it for cover.

"Set!" Kodiak yelled as his team took up positions and began putting fire on the targets appearing in the blown out building at the end of the alley they were moving down.

"Colvin, stay here and give us some precision fire! The rest of you, on me!" Sarah shouted before jumping out of cover and bounding forward, taking up positions behind a thoroughly burned out car another 5 meters ahead and to the right of Kodiak's position. "Glade, get us some suppression from here! The rest of you, we're flanking Maryland!" Her team nodded in assent as Glade's mini-gun sprung to life yet again, spraying the target building with controlled bursts of firepower. Everything had gone well so far. The Lyons' Pride was moving like a well-oiled machine, using a minimum of verbal communication to direct the action and trusting their teammates to do their jobs. Being at full strength helped as well, with an even balance of specialists in each team allowing them to support each other equally. Sarah looked to Kodiak's position and gave him the hand signal to let him know that her team would be moving through an alley to flank the target building from the right side-flanking Maryland, as they called it. He nodded before returning to the task at hand, assigning sectors of fire to his men as Knight Dusk took the head off a target that had just appeared on the top of a neighboring building. Sarah turned back to her own team and signaled them to follow her before rushing down an alley to the right of their position. It eventually ended in a T-intersection and, moving in a loosely spaced file, they turned left and began to approach the target building. They made no contact on their way and reached the last building before the target quickly. Sarah looked back at her team as they moved into position, not needing a command from her to know what to do. Two newer members, Knight Tomlinson and Knight Roberts, prepped hand grenades and threw them around the corner into the target building. They detonated 5 seconds later and without a pause Sarah and her team rushed forward, fire from their teammates outside ceasing as they entered the building and began sweeping it. Sentinel Lyons was the first through the door, as she always was. A target popped out of cover to engage them and Sarah fired a well-placed laser charge into its face a second later. She heard the rest of the team sweeping in behind her, beginning to move up and clear the second floor. The sounds of fire rang out and she began to move up to support her team if need be. It wasn't needed, it turned out, and the team advanced to the roof without incident. Star Paladin Gunny was waiting for them as they fanned out and took up positions in security on the rooftop. Sarah walked over to him, removing her helmet as she did.

"Well done, Sentinel. I think that was the most impressive I've seen your team look," he said. "Let's call them in and then run through the After-Action Review, ok?"

"Sounds good, Paladin," she replied, turning to walk back to the edge of the roof and yelling down to her team that had remained on the ground. "Everyone, on the roof for the AAR!" she bellowed down, seeing the team come out of their positions and begin taking off helmets as they meandered their way up to the building, bumping fists and generally bullshitting with each other as they did. Her own team had already removed their helmets and formed up in a horseshoe on the center of the roof around Star Paladin Gunny; so Sarah walked back to join them and await the rest of the team. Kodiak led them onto the roof a moment later and, taking up their own positions in the horseshoe formed around Gunny, awaited their debriefing.

"Well done, all of you," Gunny began. In the time since the end of the war he had been promoted and made responsible for the combat training of the entire Brotherhood, to include field training exercises for the Lyons' Pride. They had just actually run a fairly standard movement to contact and assault exercise, but the precision of it was a major improvement over their previous times. "I liked the coordinated movements and use of cover. Very smart. Sarah, excellent way to set up support by fire with your heavy weapons while you moved in on the building. Kodiak, your use of hand and arms signals was great. The rest of Bravo Team, way to not hesitate and move when Alpha had you covered. Now, does anyone have anything to improve on for next time?" Glade volunteered first.

"My bursts got sloppy there towards the end," he began. "Next time I'll focus more on 7 second bursts instead of trying to just lay waste to it." Gunny smiled at that.

"That's understandable, Glade. Having that much firepower in your hands will make anyone want to lay waste to things. Anyone else?" Silence prevailed. Not seeing any hands, Gunny went forward. "I have one, then. Dusk, you do not need to take the head off of every damn target you see. You're allowed to aim for center mass. That rifle of yours has enough kick to make an Overlord think twice if you catch him square in the chest." Gunny's training style with the Pride was much different than how he trained initiates. There was no need to yell or scream at experienced, combat veteran members of the Brotherhood. They were professionals; they knew what they had to do. Out of the entire group, only three hadn't been with the Pride during the war years, and even then, two of them had still been Brotherhood. The only member without true combat experience, outside of small firefights with pissed off locals, was Roberts. McPherson and Tomlinson had both been line Knights during the war years, and were skilled warriors by the time they had come to the Pride; having made the cross-country trek as children from California. _McPherson is skilled in a lot more than just fighting,_ Sarah thought as her gaze drifted over to him. He noticed her staring at him and met her eyes with his own, the deep brown of them belying the hardness the man could summon when he needed it. Gunny looked back to Sarah, drawing her out of her mindless fantasizing about a man who was, technically, her subordinate.

"Anything to add, Sentinel?" he asked.

"Nothing, Gunny. Lyons' Pride, move on out. We've got a bit of a hike back to the Citadel." The Pride moved off as Sarah brought up the rear, Gunny giving her a pat on the shoulder as she walked passed. This was peacetime in the Brotherhood. She hadn't realized that, after years of struggling to pacify the Capital Wasteland, the peace itself would be so boring. The Brotherhood had been able to expand during the peace, and the quality of new initiates was much higher than during those desperate years. The Chapter was, in fact, approaching full strength, and recruitment was being curtailed. People that wished to help defend the Wasteland were being sent to talk to Reilly, the woman who ran the largest mercenary company in the Wasteland. They had become a de facto sort of militia, helping secure the northern D.C. ruins while the Brotherhood patrolled the south and west and, as always, maintained Project Purity. It was late afternoon, and the heat of the day was near unbearable, even with her power armor's air-conditioning unit running at full bore. The team was casually talking amongst themselves as they headed back west towards the Citadel. Sarah couldn't help but be struck at what a far cry from the war years it was, when everyone would be totally focused on not walking into a super-mutant ambush. Sarah sometimes wondered if the fact that she in some ways missed the fighting made her a bad person; if she had to be somehow twisted to miss something that had taken so many lives. She thought sometimes about asking Colvin's take on it, as he was the team's most spiritual member and offered good insight on the human psyche, if one could tolerate his proselytizing. Not tonight, though. _Tonight, _Sarah thought, _I want to have my own AAR with McPherson._ Rank did have its privileges, after all. Not that he ever objected. She spent most of the march back to the Citadel imagining what she would do to him that night, only snapping back to the present as they crossed through the gates into the Citadel courtyard. Aside from a platoon of initiates standing in formation, waiting to be dismissed for the day, it was quiet. The Pride made its way back to their personal lounge, the Den, before they began removing their power armor and putting weapons into wall lockers.

"Hey, Sentinel," Sarah heard Tomlinson call out from the other side of the room. "Group of us are going to go tie one on in Rivet City tomorrow night. You down?" Sarah laughed. Technically, regulations prohibited her from drinking with her subordinates. At the same time, those regulations, at least in theory, also prohibited her from sleeping with McPherson. _Sometimes rules are meant to be broken,_ she thought.

"I might be down, yeah. Let me see how I feel tomorrow evening," she replied as most of the team filed out, heading to get food from the mess hall. She was left alone with McPherson.

"And how are you feeling tonight, Sentinel?" he said, his voice deep and resonant. He was a big man, the biggest on the team behind Kodiak. _Maybe bigger in some other ways, _she thought to herself, smiling as she did. He noticed the smile but opted not to comment on it.

"I guess we'll have to see how the night ends before I answer that, Paladin McPherson," she replied, resting her hand on his chest and staring up at him as she did. He smiled back at her.

"I am at your command, Sentinel," he replied, resting his hand on her hip before running it down the side of her leg. The rest of the team had just left for chow. _We have time, _she thought, grabbing him by the shirt and leading him to her private quarters at the back of the Den.


	3. The Follower

**So another shorter chapter in the interim. Bear with me while I try to set up the characters and scene. This one is an original character. As always, feedback is welcome. Also, the rating may be increased to M in the coming days, as the language is going to get saltier and there'll be a lot more violence. **

Emily McPherson began stripping off her dusty clothes as soon as her door closed behind her. For two months she had been on the Mexican side of the old border, traveling small border towns and investigating the reports she had received about areas where life continued as it had before the war. She would have to begin writing a report on her findings almost immediately, but she at least had time to indulge in a hot shower before beginning. Bathing in the middle of nowhere for her consisted of jumping in any non-irradiated body of water and washing as much of the grime off of herself as possible. She had been fantasizing about a proper shower, with hot water and soap, on her entire trip back to Shady Sands. It was one of the benefits of living in the largest city in, and capital of, the New California Republic. A stable government that provided basic services was more than most of the post-war Wasteland, she had found. She turned her water on and, stripping off the rest of her clothes, stood under the water. In that moment she couldn't remember a better feeling. After peacefully enjoying the hot water rinsing away the dust and grime of the road for several minutes, she began to turn her thoughts to the project ahead of her. The Followers of the Apocalypse had a rather loose hierarchy, but there were certain members, those who possessed a unique sort of genius or who had acquired massive amounts of wisdom over a lengthy career, that helped guide and disseminate the policies of the organization for the betterment of all mankind. Emily was one of the preeminent historians in the organization; with particular knowledge in pre-war societies, economics, and technology. She had acquired her knowledge of history and economics through a voracious appetite for reading; and was more or less born with her knowledge of technology. That knowledge had been forged through 18 years in the Brotherhood of Steel before she finally broke from them, unable to see eye-to-eye anymore with the Elders in Lost Hills on the direction of the order. Her parents had been Brotherhood; her father a Paladin and her mother a scribe, but they had left her when she was 11 in the care of the Lost Hills Chapter to accompany Paladin Owyn Lyons on his journey east, taking her younger brother, Liam, with them. As far as she knew, she was alone in the world; with only her adopted family in the Followers there to turn to. And they would be anxious to hear what she had found in Mexico.

The trip to Mexico had been anything but pleasant. Extreme caution had to be used traveling there, especially in the vicinity of the Mojave Desert, as it had become the front line of the imperialist war the NCR was fighting with Caesar's Legion over control of the Hoover Dam and the city of New Vegas. Whoever controlled the Dam would ultimately control the Mojave Wasteland, and the conflict was becoming increasingly desperate for the NCR. Though the front lines were largely stabilized, the NCR was stretched too thin to effectively patrol their territory, and there was a very real risk of being captured and sold into Legion slavery. Emily swore she would die before being forced into servitude as some legionary's plaything. The fact that Caesar had started off as Edward Sallow, a Follower of the Apocalypse, was something she felt acutely ashamed of. While she was hardly a pacifist, she couldn't understand how a man who had once dedicated his life to helping others could so easily become a violent warlord. On the other hand, every report from traders who had been east, into Caesar's territory, said the same thing: they could travel the roads in Legion territory without fear of being raided, that there was no infighting or tribal war within Legion territory. He was the undisputed master of the lands he conquered. While Emily found the man and his actions utterly abhorrent, she had to grudgingly admit that in some ways he was doing what the Followers set out to do; namely, bring peace into the post-war world and do their best to make sure such an event never happened again.

Emily had made it to Mexico without being enslaved, thankfully, and once across the former border she and her companions had traveled through the small towns and villages that bordered the old states of California and Arizona. There, hundreds of miles from anything that had ever been a major city, she found people living as they had in the 21st Century. For the first time in her life she saw animals that hadn't been affected by the radiation. Cattle, sans the extra head that a Brahmin possessed, were still ranched in those isolated areas. Donkeys and even horses still existed. The water was free from radiation. While it was hardly a paradise, and the residents of the region struggled to eke out even a basic existence, it was largely unchanged from the way life had been lived for hundreds of years there. The soil there wouldn't support large scale agricultural productions, but the existence of mutation-free wildlife alone had made her trip a wild success. Her Spanish had been severely lacking, but she had begun to learn while she had been there, enough to hold basic conversations without having to call for their translator. It was the sort of journey she couldn't have imagined as a child growing up in Lost Hills, surrounded by the ideology of the Brotherhood of Steel.

She had been born in Lost Hills in 2243. She had a hard time believing she was actually 38 sometimes. When thinking back on her life, she found it convenient to divide it into two chapters: Brotherhood and Followers. She had spent the first 18 years of her life with the Brotherhood, growing up in the organization and eventually beginning training herself. She was still a child, just beginning an apprenticeship, when her family left her in the care of the Elders and the rest of the Brotherhood. Although she was taught that the entire Brotherhood was her family, she couldn't help feeling abandoned and alone. It had driven her onward in her training, and she had been 16 when she entered the Knight ranks. Two years later, after seeing the reality of life in the Wastes, she had broken with the Brotherhood and left of her own free will. Emily could never quite put a finger on why that was, exactly. But somewhere, deep inside her heart, she was appalled at the utter disdain the Brotherhood treated outsiders with. Instead of using their knowledge of technology to help restore something akin to order and society to the Wasteland, they hoarded it and left the rest of the world to fend for itself. One day Emily had finally decided she wouldn't be part of it anymore. There wasn't any particular event that spurred it, but the decision had not been one she had pondered very deeply. It simply seemed to occur to her one day. After that she had wandered for a year before eventually meeting the Followers. After hearing their outlook and goals she knew that it was what she wanted to do with her life. She had been with them for close to 19 years, doing the best she could to help make people's lives a bit easier.

The water running cold was Emily's signal that it was time to finally get on with the rest of her day. She stepped out and, after quickly toweling herself off, put on a fresh set of clothes, khaki pants and a black t-shirt. Tying her boots back on, she walked out of her room and back toward the main entrance to the Followers facility. A trader was in the lobby, talking with a group of Followers who were intently listening to what she had to say. She knew this particular trader, a woman with a strange name who ran her own caravan business, making runs out to the Mojave and back. She was about the same age as Emily and, while totally without manners or respect for any sort of social norms, was a good source of information on the happenings in other parts of the NCR and the Mojave.

"Dr. McPherson! I have a book that may interest you," the trader said in greeting. _No time for small talk, apparently._

"And how much will you be wanting for this book?" Emily replied. She couldn't imagine a merchant would be giving her a book as a public service.

"Say 10 NCR dollars. You're not going to believe this book," the woman replied.

"And what makes this book so unbelievable?"

"Well, for one, I bought it off an honest-to-God super-mutant. I shit you not, he was guarding one of the caravans heading down towards the Mojave. And it's about life on the other side of the country. The book calls it the 'Capital Wasteland'." Emily's heart skipped a beat at that. The D.C. ruins were where her family had been sent, nearly…30 years ago? Was that possible?

"And what does it have to say about D.C.? Is the United States reborn?" The trader snorted dismissively at that.

"Not hardly. I flipped through it a bit. Place sounds like a total shithole. But it has some pretty good information that I thought you guys might be able to use to help people out in the Wastelands," the trader replied. Emily took her in. The woman was reasonably attractive for their age, her red hair pulled back in a bun under a large Western hat. Not failing to notice Emily silently staring at her, the woman continued.

"Look, I may be a functionally alcoholic trader, but I still respect what you all do. It's a shitty world out there, and at least someone is trying to make things a bit better." Emily couldn't help but twitch into half a smile at that. The moment passed quickly. She knew these traders. If she made it obvious how valuable that book would be to the Followers, she would get taken to the cleaners.

"$10 NCR?" Emily confirmed.

"$10 NCR. Take it or leave it. I could sell it for at least double that somewhere else," the trader replied. Emily didn't want to risk losing out on the book, and she could see the woman was firmly set on her price.

"We'll take it, then," Emily replied, reaching into her pocket to pull out her wallet. She counted out the money and forked it over to the woman, taking the book in exchange. She looked down at the cover of it, feeling the weight in her hands. _The Wasteland Survival Guide_, it said. _Lead Author and Subject Matter Expert: John Thompson. Assistant Author: Moira Brown. _She hoped that John Thompson and Moira Brown were as competent as this trader was making them out to be.

"Well, it's been a pleasure doing business with you, Dr. McPherson," the trader said, preparing to leave.

"Please, I'm not a doctor. Just call me Emily. And you'll have to forgive me, but I've forgotten your name. You are…"

"Rose of Sharon Cassidy, but most people just call me Cass. Or Whiskey Rose, when they're looking for a beating," she responded. Nothing in her tone indicated she was joking about the beating part, so Emily made a mental note to not call the woman Whiskey Rose. The woman, Cass, nodded at the assembled Followers and took her leave, walking back out the front door and onto the streets of Shady Sands. Emily noticed the other Followers looking at her. Technically she did have a report to begin, but this book didn't look like it would be that time consuming. And it could be potentially invaluable to the Followers. Looking back to her colleagues, she held the book up.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if Mr. Thompson and Ms. Brown have anything interesting to say," she said, turning to walk out the front door. Her favorite open-space in the city was only a few blocks away, and she always seemed to have an easier time reading there than in her room. _Hopefully Ms. Cassidy wasn't bullshitting us,_ she thought as she walked down the crowded streets of the city.


	4. Reunion

It had turned out that there was nothing that needed to be done around town, so John had spent the afternoon in Moriarty's, killing a bottle of whiskey with Jericho, his fellow retiree. While the old raider wasn't exactly an agreeable person, John had learned a lot about surviving the Wastes from him in his first weeks out of 101. For that, he would be eternally in his debt. And with John's idealism stripped away and replaced with a distinct brand of jadedness, Jericho found John a much more tolerable person to be around. The two of them would occasionally accompany a caravan to Rivet City, more for something to do and a change of scenery from Moriarty's than anything else. That had stopped a couple months back, though, after the two of them had gotten into a brawl at the Muddy Rudder. Wasteland Messiah or not, Rivet City security had objected to that, particularly when they found out that one of the men injured in the fight was a Brotherhood Knight drinking in his off-duty hours. Rivet City's economy was booming, largely driven by Brotherhood members coming there in their off-duty hours to drink, shop, and generally blow off steam. The one thing that had kept John out of the ship's brig that time was the fact that he had been coming to Jericho's defense. John had been occupied, busily bouncing someone's head off a table when the Brotherhood member intervened; trying to break up the fight, according to him. John had turned to see the Brotherhood member, back turned to him, holding Jericho in a chokehold. John had moved in, hitting the man with a hook to the kidney; before turning the man by the shoulder and, taking a commanding grip on the back of his head, introducing the man's face to his good knee. To be frank, John was mildly disgusted when he had learned that the man was Brotherhood. He had gone down without a fight, and John was far removed from his best. He couldn't move very quickly anymore, on account of his knee being injured; and he was out of shape as well, getting winded alarmingly quickly. All he had going in his favor was the muscle memory, which hadn't completely faded, and his still considerable strength. He hadn't fought in months, and his movements had been awkward and rusty. John thought that mentally most of his opponents were beaten before the fight ever started, having spent years hearing stories of his fighting prowess on GNR. John had managed to get his nose broken in the dust up, flattening the bridge of his nose out a bit more. At least Doc Church had set it straight and it hadn't healed crooked. He was already pretty broken and well on the road to being run down; he didn't need to add ugly to the mix. The entire story had been repeated on GNR by Three Dog, albeit with certain details selectively excluded. Three Dog, ever the Brotherhood propagandist, had made John sound like an asshole that jumped a Brotherhood member. _Thanks, Three Dog,_ he thought. _So much for the Good Fight. _

The men had spent the afternoon in their normal way, drinking silently while occasionally bullshitting about women they'd had and fights they'd been in. Gob was tending bar, and the ghoul made pleasant company as well, so the afternoon had been acceptable enough. John was pretty buzzed, but not to the point that he couldn't function. Pushing away from the bar, he wobbled to his feet and bid farewell to his drinking buddies as he stumbled to the door, his knee having gone stiff on him. Lucy would be getting off from her shift at the Brass Lantern soon and he figured he'd have something to eat while he waited. Staggering out into the bright afternoon sun, he was greeted by the sounds of commotion below. A woman's voice yelling. By the time his eyes adjusted to the light he realized the woman's voice was Lucy's. And she sounded irate. Looking over the railing of the walkway down toward the Brass Lantern, he saw a crowd forming around the crater as what appeared to be a drunk trader accosted her. _He's being way too hands on, _John thought as he moved as quickly as he could down the ramps to ground level. _Why was no one intervening? _As he came around the bomb in the center of town he heard a voice call out.

"Her boyfriend is going to kick your ass if you don't leave her alone!" A woman yelled. _I'm not her boyfriend,_ he thought. The crowd parted as John approached, opening a path that let John see Lucy pushing the man away from her. Past her, he could see Lucas Simms hustling down the hill. The man turned to face John, eyes widening when he saw him. He recognized him.

"_You're _this little bitch's boyfriend?" he drunkenly slurred out. _That word again. Can't a guy have a no-strings-attached physical relationship with a woman anymore?_ Before John could respond, the man drew a small, .38 revolver from the waistband of his pants and leveled it on him. He heard a collective gasp from the crowd, followed by the sound of people hurriedly getting out of the line of fire. Simms must have missed the gun when the man came into town. _Shit._ John was wearing a tan shirt and black pants, his standard style of clothing in retirement; but it offered absolutely no protection from gunfire of any type. His childhood BB gun would penetrate these clothes. If he died here he would have some very choice words for St. Peter, after his time in Purgatory was done. He could see Simms behind the man, wanting to make a move but forced to stand still, not willing to risk the chance of the man firing if Simms tried to tackle him. _Looks like it's up to me, _John thought. _Let's see if this man bought in to the legend of the Lone Wanderer. _

"A .38? Really? I destroyed the super-mutants, and you think that fucking peashooter will stop me? If you don't drop that gun in five seconds, I swear to God, I'll shove it so far up your ass the bullets will fire out of your mouth. Five…" John began counting. Lucy slipped away while the man was distracted by John. He could see doubt forming in the man's eyes as they flickered around the crowd. John's voice was still commanding when he wanted it to be; he could still present an imposing image to any would-be assailant. He was relying on every bit of psychology he knew right then in his bid to make the man back down. Shoulders square, arms crossed over his chest, feet shoulder width apart. His eyes were straight ahead, locked on to his target like a predator on its prey. At 6'1 and 195 pounds, John still had a size advantage on most people, and the shirt he was wearing did a passable job at disguising the fact that he was about 10 pounds over his fighting weight, as it were.

"Four…" The man began to lower the gun.

"Alright, Messiah," he said, practically spitting the word. "Let's do this like-" he didn't finish the sentence before Lucas tackled the man, hard, and jerked his arm up behind his back. The man yelped in pain. John presumed he was going to challenge him to an old fashioned fistfight. _That could have been fun_, he thought, watching Lucas zip tie the man's hands behind his back. Lucas looked up at John as he stood back up.

"Stick around, John. I want to talk to you after I put this piece of shit in lockup."

"I'll be here," John responded, watching Lucas violently jerk the man to his feet with some amusement.

"You fucking pussy! Both are you fucking faggots!" the man screamed as he was led away, drawing a shot to the back of the head from Lucas. John could only sigh. Hopefully sobering up in the lockup would calm the man down. _And dear God, don't let this little story make it to Three Dog, _he thought. He wanted his name on the radio as much as he wanted a hole in the head.

He turned to find Lucy walking toward him as the crowd dissipated, going back to their lives. She looked slightly shaken, but otherwise fine. With as much as she had been through in her life, it was doubtful a drunk trader was going to leave an impact on her.

"You ok?" he asked as he leaned forward to give her a kiss. She pecked him on the lips before straightening up, her nose wrinkled a bit. She could taste, and smell, the liquor on him, doubtless. If she was bothered by it she did a good job of masking it.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Just need to finish up work," she continued as John took a seat along the outdoor bar, back turned to the bomb that Megaton was built around. He could hear Confessor Cromwell rambling in the background. As he sat Jenny Stahl, one of the owners of the place, looked up to Lucy.

"Don't worry about it, hon. You can knock off early today," she said. Lucy looked slightly grateful at that. She still seemed a bit rattled.

"Thanks, Jenny" she replied, sitting next to John along the bar and beginning to count out her tips. John looked at her, waiting until she was done counting to speak.

"You want something to eat?" he asked. She smiled at him and nodded, reaching over to grab his hand.

"Sure. Thanks for coming to my defense, John."

"I just couldn't believe no one had sooner," he replied, kissing her on the forehead before turning to Jenny, waiting behind the bar on them. "Jenny, get Lucy whatever she wants, and I'll have a Brahmin steak and a beer." Jenny nodded at him, looking over to Lucy.

"Noodles and a glass of water, please," she said. Jenny nodded at her as well before returning inside to get the food started. John looked back to Lucy once they were alone.

"How was your day, then?" he asked.

"Quiet until the end. Made 20 caps in tips, so not too bad a day. Am I sleeping over again tonight? I have off tomorrow, we can start the weekend early."

"Every day is the weekend when you're retired, dear. But that sounds good to me." She smiled at him. John was very torn about this entire relationship, truth be told. He liked Lucy, cared about her; but he didn't love her. And he didn't do relationships. The closest he had come was with Sarah Lyons. But even that hadn't been real. _Might as well admit it,_ he thought. Three and a half years and he was still in love with Amata. He had been angry and hurt the last time he saw her, when she told him he had to leave the Vault again, this time for good. The years had passed, though, and those feelings had faded. He realized they didn't matter in the end. Amata had been doing what she felt was best for the Vault. And the traders he had seen from 101, namely Susie Mack, had told him that Amata missed him. Butch had confirmed it when they had last seen each other in Rivet City. Butch had spent time with Amata and the other traders from 101 when he had seen them there. John had left Butch with a message for Amata, should he see her again. He was still holding out hope that maybe their lives would overlap again. At the same time, he wasn't exactly waiting around, he thought, looking at Lucy. What could he say. He still had desires, and Lucy satisfied them extremely well.

"Want to just go back to your house after this, then? Listen to the radio or something?" she asked.

"That sounds good," he replied, noticing Lucas coming back down the hill. He stood up from his chair as the sheriff approached, extending his hand to shake John's before turning to Lucy.

"Did he hurt you at all, Ms. West?" She shook her head.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks for helping," she said, smiling faintly. Lucas turned back to John.

"Sorry about that business back there, John. He was wearing a duster when he came into town, and he seemed nice enough when he was sober." Lucas took John in as he spoke. _He's drunk,_ he realized. Lucas felt something akin to pity in his heart. John behaved when he drank, so he never had cause to threaten him or put him in the lockup, and he was a good guy to have around town, always willing to lend a hand. And as a person Lucas liked him. He'd known the kid since he came stumbling out of the Vault. The town owed him big after he disarmed the bomb for good. Lucas didn't know what exactly had happened to make the kid step back from life, but he knew every man had their point. There had been that business with the Brotherhood as the war wound down. Lucas knew that John's old friend, the super-mutant, was heading to Megaton. _Maybe that will lift the kid's spirits, _he thought. Lucas had a lot more to do than babysit a scarred young man. He was sympathetic, but eventually enough was enough. Lucas had lost his wife and been forced to raise his boy by himself, but he didn't sit around getting drunk and abusing Med-X every day. The kid thought he was smart, shooting it where the track marks weren't visible; but Lucas knew how to tell the signs. It was his eyes that gave it away, early in the day. They couldn't stay still. Lucas figured he was injecting in the morning to deal with the pain in his knee. He and Doc Church had considered staging an intervention, but they weren't entirely sure they could restrain the kid if he got squirrely while he was getting clean.

"Thanks for helping out there, John. Don't know what he may have tried if I had gotten there before you."

"Probably nothing. He was drunk and belligerent, he would have backed off when he saw you. Only reason he drew on me was because I'm unarmed."

Why aren't you carrying?" Simms asked. "You know no one in town will complain if you do. You've been here long enough now." Lucas had been trying to make the kid feel like he belonged, hoping that it would help his mental state a bit.

"What's the point? I have you to protect me now," John replied, smiling. Simms rolled his eyes. The kid blew off every serious question with jokes.

"Someday I won't be. You take good care of yourself, John. Treat Ms. West here right," he said, tipping his hat before walking away. John looked back at Lucy. She was fighting back laughter.

"What's so funny?" he asked, sliding back into his seat as Jenny brought the food out.

"Just Lucas and his Wild West dream. Giving you a stern talking to…it was funny to watch, at least."

"Well, the man has a point," John began as he cut off a piece of steak. "I should treat you right…" he finished suggestively, before popping the steak into his mouth. Lucy laughed.

"Maybe you can try tonight. I am a shaken woman, after all. I need comfort," she replied, in a tone that was anything but shaken. She loved teasing him. Lucy didn't know what exactly it was they were doing, but she enjoyed having the living legend to herself. And he treated her well, so she was willing to overlook the other things, the alcohol and chems and the façade of detachment he put up about his old life. He was fooling no one with that. _And who knows,_ Lucy thought. Maybe with enough time he'd get over the back-to-back let downs of his Vault girl and the Brotherhood woman and be willing to settle down. They could have a quiet, peaceful life here in town, or back in Arefu if they wanted. In her heart of hearts, she knew he'd never be satisfied with that, but she could fantasize. He raised his eyebrows at her, staring at her with eyes that were greener than anything she'd seen.

"I don't try, I just do," he responded, his tone thick with cockiness. Sometimes Lucy forgot that she was actually several years his senior; that underneath everything else he was still just a 22 year old, someone that should be looking forward to a whole life in front of them.

"Well then do it, Messiah." She looked ready to continue before Jenny Stahl cut her off.

"For Christ's sake, will you two get a room? This is a family establishment," she huffed, turning on her heel and stalking back inside. They both burst out laughing as soon as the door closed.

"Good job, Luce. You made Jenny blush," John said, calling her by his pet name for her as he killed the last of his beer.

"She'll live," Lucy responded, before sucking down the rest of her noodles. "Want to head back to your place?"

"Sounds good," John replied, turning to leave before freezing in his tracks. Lucas Simms was standing there, and next to him was a face John hadn't seen in years.

"Holy shit. You're back," John whispered, jaw agape. Lucas had a huge grin on his face, obviously pleased with his ability to surprise John.

"I am back, my old friend," Fawkes replied. They stared at each other for a moment before John started laughing and covered the short distance to embrace Fawkes. He was absolutely dwarfed by the mutant, but he didn't care. When they broke apart John wore a wide smile on his face.

"I missed you, you old bastard! How was it? How is the world?"

"Huge," Fawkes responded. "Do you have time to talk tonight?" John looked over to Lucy. Her face made it clear she knew what was coming.

"Go ahead, John. I'll see you when you get home tonight," she said. He kissed her quickly before turning back to Fawkes.

"How about we take a walk, Fawkes? Stretch our legs a bit?" John asked, noticing people beginning to stare at the mutant in the middle of their town.

"I've just walked across the continent twice, but as you say, my friend. Lead the way." John knew where to go.

"Lucas, I'll be back late tonight. Don't send out the search parties. The duo is reunited," he said, slapping Fawkes on the back. Lucas just laughed and nodded as the two turned and walked toward the gate. He looked over to Lucy, staring after them as they left.

"You really care about him, don't you, Ms. West?"

"I guess I do. And I think you may have just started the end of it." Lucas was taken aback by that.

"What does that mean, Ms. West?"

"Didn't you see how he looked when he saw Fawkes, sheriff? He hasn't had that look in his eyes since the war."

"That doesn't mean he's going to leave you, Lucy. Who knows, maybe we can even start to get him back on track between the group of us." Lucy just smiled sadly at that.

"I hope so, Lucas. But I doubt it," she replied as she turned to walk away.

* * *

Emily McPherson closed the book and put it down next to her. It had been an absorbing read, to say the least. The Capital Wasteland, as the authors referred to it, was utter chaos. It was the sort of place that needed an organization like the Followers. If the writings of Mr. Thompson and Ms. Brown were to be believed, the only organization enforcing any semblance of order was the Brotherhood of Steel, which was utterly unlike the Brotherhood she knew. Their whole purpose was to preserve and acquire pre-war technology, not help the average person. She hadn't known Owyn Lyons outside of his reputation, but she had heard her parents talking about him in the evening after sending her and Liam to bed. She remembered them talking about the disputes Lyons had found himself in with the Elders over their disregard for civilians in the pursuit of technology. If that was really what Lyons was like, he was the sort of man that she would have stayed in the Brotherhood to serve under. But none of the Elders in the West were like that.

Emily's mind was beginning to process all that she had read. If this book was even half true, then reporting it to her fellows took priority over her report on Mexico. She hoped that with some discussion she could persuade the Followers to approve an expedition to the D.C. ruins. She would lead it herself if they would let her. And maybe she would finally know what had become of her family, if her father and mother were still alive at all. She had spent 30 years wondering what had happened to them. The last communication the Brotherhood had received before she left had reported that the Brotherhood expedition had reached the D.C. ruins and discovered incredible pre-war technology in the ruins of the Pentagon. The only reported casualty had been Paladin Ishmael Ashur; so, at least as of 20 years ago, her parents had been alive. Emily leaned her head back and looked up at the sky. It was mid-afternoon in Shady Sands. Maybe she could catch the man she wanted to talk to at dinner this evening back at the Followers headquarters. She stood up and, dusting herself off, began walking back down the street. The occasional bus or truck rumbled by on the street, but most people, even in Shady Sands, continued to travel on foot around the city. She made the short walk back to the Followers building even more quickly than normal, anxious to talk to Dr. Parker about what she had read. Dr. Daniel Parker was one of the most respected members of the Followers of the Apocalypse. He was an older man, in his 50s, and an absolutely brilliant mind. He had been Emily's mentor when she joined the organization all those years ago, and had taught her some of the finer points of his field of expertise, medicine. While Emily would never be as gifted a surgeon as him, she did have enough functional knowledge to treat people thanks to him. And outside of his technical expertise, Dr. Parker was respected for his wisdom; for his insights into the problems of both the NCR and the larger world.

Emily found Dr. Parker in the cafeteria of the Follower's building, surrounded by a group of younger men and women. _They'll be the newest group to catch his attention,_ she thought. Dr. Parker was in the habit of finding the most promising minds amongst the newest members of the Followers and fostering their development. He smiled when he was her approach.

"Emily! Come sit, join us!" he was always happy to see her. She had been one of his favorite protégés, and he was proud to see how she had developed.

"Thank you, Daniel," she replied, smiling at him and nodding at his group of mentees.

"Emily just returned from a research expedition to the Mexican side of the old world border," Parker began, addressing his group. "Emily, have you been able to begin your report? Can you share what you found there?"

"It was quite interesting, Daniel," she began. "But I actually wish to talk to you about something else," she continued, holding up the copy of the _Wasteland Survival Guide_ she had bought from Ms. Cassidy.

"And what is that, Emily?"

"A book I bought from a trader today. It was written about the Washington, D.C. ruins. I think you should read it," she said, passing the book to him. He took it from her hands and glanced at it before setting it on the table.

"And what will I find in it?"

"A place that needs the Followers. The D.C. ruins are in total chaos, according to this book. Aside from adding to our knowledge of the post-war world and societies that have developed…I think we should send an expedition east." Parker gaped at that.

"East? To Washington? My dear, do you have any idea how long of a trek that is? How dangerous? We aren't the Brotherhood, we don't have near the equipment or weapons needed for that sort of trip."

"Please, just talk to the others about it. That's all I ask," she replied.

"Emily, how much of this is about helping others, and how much is about your past?" he asked, forgetting the group that didn't know her around them. She gave him a look and he quickly realized his mistake. Her past in the Brotherhood was not something she wanted being common knowledge. "I'll take it to them, though. At the least, we will read it. I can't promise any more than that, Emily."

"That's all I ask," she replied, turning back to the rest of the group. The atmosphere relaxed and they returned to their previous discussion. Emily pretended to be listening, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She couldn't stop thinking about what the book had described. She knew that she had to go, with or without the Followers approval.


	5. The Spark

**So there's a pseudo-sex scene in this chapter. Treat me gentle. As always, reviews and feedback are welcome and appreciated!**

John sat on the edge of the overlook, the door that led to Vault 101's entrance at his back. He had listened quietly while Fawkes explained everything he had seen on his travels. John had absorbed it all, idly scratching Dogmeat behind the ears as they watched the sunset. The dog didn't get to leave Megaton much anymore, so John had opted to bring him on the short trip. He felt bad; as he was sure the pup must get bored being stuck in Megaton. He had always enjoyed going out with John on some adventure.

The cogs began to turn in the living legend's head after Fawkes had finished speaking. Fawkes, too, had changed in the two years since they had seen each other. His voice was less gravely, and he moved much more fluidly. It was as if he had grown into his body on his travels. Pondering what Fawkes had told him, John couldn't help but feel a surge of anger at Elder Lyons and Scribe Rothchild. Not mentioning the existence of the Legion may have been excusable, as they were apparently a recent phenomenon. But there was no good reason that he hadn't been told about the NCR. An entire nation, expanding rapidly and bringing old world values with them. A place where society was rebuilding, at long last. Resting on the ground between him and Fawkes were some of the gifts that the mutant had brought back-a book and various holotapes on the history of the NCR, as well as assorted music that was popular in the West. _That would provide a welcome change from GNR. _John mindlessly stretched his left leg out and began to massage his knee. Fawkes didn't fail to notice it.

"It never healed fully, did it?" he asked.

"No. Apparently that mutation is more applicable to bones and soft tissue than to ligaments. Couldn't tell you why." Exposure to an ungodly amount of radiation while assisting Moira Brown in the survival guide had led to a mutation that granted him extremely rapid healing of injuries. For some reason, though, it had never healed what John assumed was a severely damaged ACL.

"There are people I met on my travels who would be able to treat it. Medicine is actually beginning to progress again in the NCR," Fawkes said. John looked at him.

"For everyone, or the extremely wealthy?"

"The Followers of the Apocalypse treat all, regardless of wealth," Fawkes replied. He had spoken highly of them to John, obviously impressed with their goals and methods. _They sound like people we could use here, _he thought. For the first time in years, John felt a familiar feeling: urgency. He needed to know more. He would begin by reviewing all the information that Fawkes had brought him. Outside that, though…he could think of only one option.

"It sounds like I should go there myself," he said. Fawkes' face betrayed no surprise at that.

"I do not want you to think I am encouraging any course of action, my friend. It is a long journey. Will your knee be able to handle it?"

"I'll make do. Especially if it being fixed for good is the prize at the end of the road."

"Another thing to consider, my friend. You are a legend here. I am known as your friend and ally. That will be different in the West. There, I am known and you would be my friend and ally. Are you prepared for that? I do not mean to imply that you are arrogant; but you are a proud man, John." He smiled at that.

"Fame grows wearisome, Fawkes. I miss being nobody."

"Even before you grew into a legend, you were not a nobody, John. Every life has some inherent value to it." John smiled at that.

"You almost sound like you've been talking to Leo, Fawkes."

"He is one of the people I intend to find first. Before we leave, I should like to see him and tell him of Jacobstown." It was John's turn to be taken aback, now.

"Before _we _leave?"

"I have known you for nearly three years, John. I can tell when you are plotting a course of action. You intend to sign on as a caravan guard to head west, I assume. I would be a poor friend, indeed, were I to let you walk blindly into an area I know well." John smiled at that. Fawkes had accurately predicted his course of action. First, though, John wanted to read and learn about the New California Republic. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, and even now traveling at night was not advisable.

"Are you sleeping in Megaton, Fawkes?" he asked, rising to his feet.

"Yes. Sheriff Simms was kind enough to allow me to stay in the common room," he replied, coming to his feet as well. John gave a backward glance at the wooden door that led to Vault 101's entrance. When he left Megaton he came here more often than he'd like to admit. The place still held emotional significance for him. It was where he had first seen the sun. And here, even if he couldn't see her, he was close to Amata. With Dogmeat bounding ahead, the duo that had saved the Wasteland made their way home. And for the first time in recent memory, John felt purpose again.

They made the trek back to Megaton unharassed. Crossing through the gate, John bid goodnight to Fawkes before turning to his house. He had grown increasingly excited on their walk back to town. He had thought that with the war over there was nothing left for him to do. But now…now there was something to see. He had assumed, perhaps naïvely, that civilization had been so thoroughly obliterated by the Great War that what remained existed as it did in the Capital Wasteland. As they had walked back to town, John had begun to analyze what Fawkes had told him. Two expansionist powers were locked in a war over control of a vital natural resource and, ultimately, a region. Apparently society had survived well enough out west that it had begun emulating the old world again. Either way, one faction was destined for victory. NCR, and there would be no remaining organized obstacles between them and the East Coast, only geography. If the Legion emerged victorious, they would likely be occupied attempting to subdue the NCR for some time. But eventually they, too, would turn east, if Fawkes was to be believed; and in the course of their time together John had never been given reason to not trust him. Someday war would come again to the Capital, and unless something dramatic happened, they would be totally unprepared. John would be damned if he would let the dream his father died for be snuffed out by some Western boy scouts or a bunch of historically inaccurate reenactors. He had to see it for himself, though. That was all he could think. He was drawn from his thoughts as he entered his house. Lucy was sitting at the table, listening to the radio and drinking a beer, which was rare for her. Dogmeat padded over to her, putting his head in her lap and begging a petting out of her. She looked up at John as she did. There was a look in his eyes that she hadn't seen in years; certainly not in all the time they had been sleeping together. _Fire. He looks alive again, _she thought.

"What're you doing? He asked her, dropping his books and holotapes on the table as he did, before pulling up a chair to face her.

"Oh, just getting ready to listen to my favorite radio show," she replied, smiling wickedly.

"Daring Dashwood and Argyle?" he asked. She laughed.

"Not quite," she replied, nodding toward the radio.

"_It's the adventures of the Lone Wanderer, John Thompson, and his loyal gang of ruffians!"_ the radio blared out. John groaned.

"Ugh, not that guy. I hear he's an asshole in real life. Three Dog told me so." Lucy laughed at that.

"Oh, I don't know. He can be ok. Now, if he just bails out without laying me at least one last time, he'll be an asshole." John sighed before smiling faintly at her.

"What makes it so obvious?" He saw no reason to try and deny it. He would have to talk to her about it eventually. He wouldn't know how long he had left in town until he could radio Joanne, but he didn't think it would be too long.

"The look in your eyes. You look like you did when we first met. A bit scruffier, though…" she said, making a face. "I haven't even seen that look in your eyes when we fuck."

"I'm sorry. I haven't heard you complaining, though…"

"I'm not complaining. You know what you're doing. Although I am curious if it would be different with you like this…"

"Well, there's only one way to find out," he replied, resting a hand on her leg as he leaned forward to kiss her. She returned it, lightly meeting his tongue with hers before pulling away.

"How much longer do we have?" she whispered as she rose to her feet.

"I don't know," he replied. "I have to talk to Joanne tomorrow," he continued as he pulled her shirt off, revealing a pair of very nicely shaped breasts. _They're a perfect handful,_ he thought as he ran his hands over her. She shivered slightly and bit her lip as she undid the buttons on his shirt.

"Who's Joanne?" she asked as she pulled his shirt off.

"Caravan contact," he replied as he leaned forward to kiss her breasts. A sigh escaped her lips as he did.

"Aroo?!" Dogmeat was staring at them, head cocked quizzically. John couldn't help but laugh.

"Maybe we should go upstairs," he said, grabbing Lucy and picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his body and began kissing his neck as he carried her upstairs. _This isn't good for the knee, _he thought as they reached his room. He threw her down on the bed before falling on top of her, unbuttoning her pants while he kissed her with increasing urgency. She slid her hands down the front of his pants, finding him ready for her. John sat up to peel her pants off before standing so she could finish undressing him, admiring the view all the while. Lucy was quite fit, and what little body hair she naturally had she removed. She stood to meet him as his pants fell to the ground, throwing her arms around his neck as he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. _This is different,_ she thought. Their sex had always been fun and satisfying, but this felt…passionate. As if a sudden reengagement with the world was spilling over into every other aspect of his being. Lucy turned so that his back was to the bed and pushed against his chest, hard enough so he knew to lie down. The alcohol, coupled with the increasingly passionate foreplay, was adding to her confidence. She wanted to take charge; give him something to remember on the road. _And yes, something to come back to,_ she hoped.

An hour later they lay in bed, energy spent. _That was incredible, _Lucy thought as she idly traced a pattern over John's still muscular chest. She liked his relative lack of body hair. The sex had been different than anything they had done before. Urgent, and passionate, and a hundred other little things. He had even been vocal, saying her name while she rode him. For her part, she had been so loud she was surprise Lucas Simms hadn't come over to make sure she wasn't being hurt. She looked up at John's face; saw him staring at the ceiling. He was thinking about something.

"You ok?" she whispered softly.

"I feel like a person waking up from a coma. Like I've been dreaming for longer than I can remember. And now everything is real again, and it's all a shock," he replied, looking down to her. The dim light of the lamp was enough to see by, and they looked into each other's eyes. Hers clear and blue; his, green…and was it just her, or did they look more golden than normal?

"I don't know what made you hide away, after the war, but I like this new-old you," she said, leaning forward to kiss his chest. He pulled her closer as she did. And they lay together, trying to silently puzzle out what had just happened, until sleep overtook them.

* * *

The dawn's light was peeking in when John woke up. Lucy was lying on her side, facing away from him and sleeping peacefully. John slid out of bed and, hobbling to his chair, went through his morning routine of loosening up and Med-X. While waiting for the Med-X to take effect, he went through his mental checklist of what he needed to do that day. _Radio Joanne and see about signing on to the next caravan. Talk to Lucas and tell him I'm leaving. _And then…depending how long he had, make the goodbye rounds. He figured he'd see if Jericho wanted to do Rivet City one last time. Maybe call on Three Dog for old time's sake. _First things first, though._ Pulling on a pair of boxer-briefs, he limped out to his rooftop patio and, sinking to a knee, began his morning prayers.

Finishing, he sat back in his chair to watch the sunrise. He was restless, though. He wanted the sun to come up enough that he could begin the day. He hadn't felt this sort of restlessness since he was a child on Christmas Eve. _I'm overreacting to this, _he thought. _The book, I'll start there._ He limped back inside and down to his kitchen, where he had left the book Fawkes had given him. Sitting down, he picked it up and began reading. It had been published in 2241, so the information it contained would be dated. Still, it would provide a foundation to build his plans on. He spent the morning like that, quietly reading until he heard Lucy stirring upstairs. She walked into the kitchen, still naked, and looked at him.

"Good book? She asked.

"Not as good as you look," he replied, smiling. She beckoned him toward her before turning and walking back up the stairs. _This could be a fun way to pass the time, _he though as he walked into his room to see her waiting on the bed for him.

* * *

By the time they had finished it was finally late enough to begin putting his plan in action.

"I'm going to go use Lucas' radio to talk to Joanne," he told Lucy as they both got dressed.

"Want to meet down by the bomb after?" she asked.

"I don't know how long I'll be, but sure," he replied as he buttoned his shirt. She reached up to kiss him before walking down the stairs to leave. A moment later he heard the door open and shut. John paused for a moment before turning to leave. Last night had felt…different. This wasn't good. It would not due to let himself get attached to Lucy when he was leaving soon. _And there's still Amata…_

_ Amata's gone, you idiot. Stop living in denial._

_ I'm not in denial, I'm optimistic. _

_ And how are you still an optimist after all you've done? _

_ Oh, just shut up and get on with the task at hand! _He shut off the dialogue in his head as he walked down the stairs.

"Dogmeat! Come on, boy!" The dog sprung to his feet and trotted over to John's side as he stepped out the door. The heat hit him like a wall as he did. _Ah, summer in the capital_. He did not have a hard time finding Lucas Simms. He was standing near the crater, casually conversing with Fawkes. They turned to greet him as he approached, Lucas tipping his hat in greeting.

"Morning, sheriff," John began, extending his hand. Before Lucas could reply, John continued. "Mind if I use the radio? I have someone I need to talk to." Lucas chuckled.

"I figured you might, after talking to Fawkes here," he replied. "You know where it is. Go ahead and let yourself in."

"Appreciate it, sheriff. I'll be back in a few," John replied as he turned to walk to Simms's house. He and Fawkes watched John walk away.

"He almost looks like his old self, Fawkes," the sheriff began. "I don't know what you told him, but it worked better than anything I did."

"I simply reminded him there was a greater world, beyond the Wasteland. He needed to know there was still a way to find meaning in his life. He had been harboring some ideas for some time. I merely lit the spark that started the fire," the mutant replied.

* * *

John returned 15 minutes later to find Lucas and Fawkes sitting at the Brass Lantern, talking with Lucy as she ate breakfast. They turned to face him as he approached.

"July 17th," he said, not elaborating further. Fawkes just nodded, while Lucy couldn't help but look slightly downcast.

"Did you tell her I am coming?" Fawkes asked.

"Yes. Part of me thinks she only agreed to me doing it because you're coming." Fawkes shrugged.

"It is possible, I suppose," he replied. Lucas' face betrayed a hint of confusion as he chimed in.

"Can you tell me what you're talking about, John?"

"I will be leaving town, and the Capital, on July 17th, Lucas. I don't know when I'll return; but please, don't tell anyone else." Lucas' eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Where are you going?"

"West. Where exactly remains to be seen." Lucas nodded, slightly apprehensively.

"Well, we'll miss having you here," he said, standing as he did. "If you need anything before you go, just say the word." John smiled.

"Thanks, sheriff," he replied as Lucas turned to leave. John turned back to Lucy and Fawkes. _What friends I have, _he thought. _A giant super-mutant and a petite blonde. _

"Time to begin putting my affairs in order, Fawkes. I'm going to Rivet City this afternoon."

"I will head north to find Leo, then," Fawkes replied. John nodded.

"Check the Oasis. I think he's living there most of the time," John said. "I'll need you to tell me what I should bring, as well." Fawkes grunted.

"Weapons. Armor. Water. Caps," he responded concisely. John chuckled.

"Just like old times, huh?"

"Indeed, my friend," he said. "I will take my leave now. It is quite a walk to Oasis," he continued, also standing to leave. John was left alone with Lucy. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Two weeks, huh?" she asked. John nodded.

"Two weeks. What do you want to do?" She thought for a moment.

"One last week, then. After that, we stop. I don't want it to hurt any more than it has to when you leave." John frowned at that.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I don't want to hurt you…" he began.

"I know," she replied. "But it's who you are. You're the Lone Wanderer. Emphasis on lone. And now there might be a new challenge, so you have to go face it. I understand that. You wouldn't be you if you didn't."

For a brief moment John seriously considered not leaving. Images went through his head, as if showing him what a future with Lucy could be. Her walking to meet him in a white dress on their wedding day. Bearing their children. Watching as the Wasteland recovered until it didn't even need the Lone Wanderer and he could just be John Thompson again. But then the images changed. An army approaching. Settlements falling before it. The Wasteland left defenseless and he too old to stop it. Until a new flag, white and red, flew over every settlement in the Capital Wasteland. And that image hardened John's resolve. He knew this was what he had to do.

"One week then, Lucy. When I get back, let's make it count." She smiled.

"Ok," she replied, reaching up to kiss him. "I'm going to go to my place," she continued. "Have a good time in Rivet City. No fights this time, ok?"

"No fights," he confirmed. Lucy turned to walk away. Only once she was safely inside her house did she let the tears fall down.


	6. Yo Ho, Yo Ho

**This one took a while. But finally, some action. **

_I need a drink._ It had not been a good week for Emily. Her report on Mexico had gone easily enough, but her attempt to convince the Followers that they should send a party east had gone less than well. It still made her angry to think about. Even her old friend Daniel hadn't been on her side. They were grateful for the survival guide she had bought; and were reproducing it to distribute to their other locations, but that was where their interest in the Capital Wasteland ended. She had felt mildly patronized by the tone of her colleagues when she broached the idea of going there. As if she didn't know the dangers inherent in a cross-country expedition. So there she sat, staring at her computer screen in her room. It was a Friday night, and so far it showed no signs of being memorable. Maybe a trip to the Four-Horned Bull was in order. That was the regular haunt for Followers in Shady Sands, and had a decent menu as well as drinks. As if hearing her thoughts, Daniel Parker appeared in her doorway.

"A group of us are going to the Four-Horned Bull for dinner, Em. You should come with us, get out of this room." She laughed.

"I was just thinking that, Dan. Let me get changed and I'll meet you down in the lobby," she replied as she rose from her chair. In private she and Parker had a much more relaxed relationship than how they acted in front of new members. Daniel shut the door as he left and Emily began to strip down. She was in a strange mood. _Something sexy,_ she thought, looking in her closet. She had a nice dress that she wore occasionally, with a low neckline that complemented her cleavage, before ending at mid-thigh, showing off legs that could have been on a woman 10 years younger. She was tall, somewhere around 5'10, and the height ran in her family. She paused for a moment, debating how sexy she wanted to dress that night. _What the hell,_ she thought as she opened a drawer and pulled out a rare set of lingerie. It was the polar opposite from how she normally dressed, but she still liked to get dressed up once in a while. _Besides, maybe there will be someone halfway decent out there._ She grabbed her clutch and, making sure she had enough money in it, headed to the lobby to meet the others.

* * *

John stared down at the two marble stones in front of him. He had retrieved the marble from the ruins of the Capitol and had them engraved at the Citadel with a cutting laser when he and the Brotherhood had been on better terms.

_James Thompson September 21, 2226-December 3, 2277_

_ Janice Kaplinski August 3, 2248-December 3, 2277_

He still remembered the day as if it had just happened. Col. August shooting Janice. His father flooding the room with radiation. The desperate flight to the Citadel, his first time there. He looked up from the gravestones to observe the area. He was alone. Jericho had gone ahead to wait for him at Rivet City. He had found the raider heading to Moriarty's and hadn't had a hard time convincing him to go to Rivet City. John hadn't mentioned that it would be the last time for a long while that they'd be able to. He could see the carrier off in the distance. In the other direction, and much closer, Project Purity dumped it's load of purified water into the Potomac. _Your dream, dad. You and mom. Everyone here is grateful for what you did. And you, Janice. And I miss you. Every day, I miss you. _He could still hear his father's voice in his memory…

_"Do you know who Tecumseh was, John?"_

_ "An Indian chief?" James laughed._

_ "Yes, he was a Shawnee chief. But he was more than just that. Can you read this to me?" he asked, sliding an open book across the cafeteria table to John. The young boy picked it up and began to read the passage his father had opened to._

_ "So live your life that fear of death can never enter your heart," he began falteringly, looking up to his father. James gave him an encouraging nod. He was only 9, and death scared him. "Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide," he continued before looking up at James. "Dad, what's that mean? What's the great divide?" James sighed._

_ "It's the boundary between this life, on Earth, and the afterlife, son," he replied, simplifying it for the 9 year olds sake. "Keep reading," he encouraged._

_ "Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none. Dad, what's grovel mean?" he asked, mispronouncing the word. James chuckled. _

_ "It's grovel, son. And it means to bow to someone, to act like they are better than you." John bobbed his head in understanding._

_ "When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision. When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home," he concluded, putting the book back down. James looked at him. _

_ "What do you think it means, John?" The boy paused for a second._

_ "Be nice. Help other people. And don't be afraid to die," he responded earnestly. James smiled at that._

_ "I think that's most of it," he said. He was immensely proud of he and Catherine's little boy. From an early age he had shown signs of brilliance. He hoped somewhere Catherine could see. "Now let's get back to the room. It's bedtime for you. You have a big day tomorrow! 10 already!" he continued, taking his son's hand as they walked back to their room…_

John returned to the present from his memory. It did no good to dwell on things that were gone. His mother, his father, Amata, Sarah. They all went away in the end. Looking back to his father's grave, he spared one final prayer. _Guide me, dad._ With that he turned to walk away and meet Jericho at Rivet City. It wasn't a long walk there, and there was a much smaller chance of being ambushed these days. He felt optimistic as he made his way toward the floating city. As if seeing his father's grave reminded him of what he was working for again-the safety of the entire Wasteland. He realized now, in retrospect, that his father had used Tecumseh's words as a way to teach John a code to live by, outside of their faith. The sight of Jericho waiting drew him from his thoughts as he approached Rivet City. He stood near the ramp that led to the bridge into the city. John had figured there was a snowball's chance in hell of Jericho going into the city alone. He was tough, not stupid.

"How's the old man doing?" Jericho asked.

"Still dead," John replied as they made their way up the ramps. "Let's get to the Rudder. I need a drink." Jericho laughed at that.

"You're not the only one, kid. It's too damn hot out." As they made their way across the bridge to the ship, John noticed a figure waiting for them. Harkness. _This could be trouble._ John had helped Harkness out of a tight spot before, and he hoped the android remembered it.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked as they approached.

"Just thought we'd get out of Megaton for a bit. How're you, Harkness?" The android sighed.

"Fine. Both of you stay out of trouble, hear me? No more incidents like last time."

"You got it, boss," John replied as he and Jericho entered the superstructure of the ship. They wound their way through the corridors of the ship, drawing greetings from some of the people in town John was on good terms with. They entered the Muddy Rudder and, before they could reach the bar, were greeted by Belle Bonny.

"If either of you two fucks up my joint like last time, Brock will stomp the shit out of you." She had not been happy about the brawl that happened when John and Jericho had last visited.

"Nice to see you too, Bonny," John replied. Before he could continue, he heard a man's voice from off to the side call him something he hadn't been called in years.

"Yo JJ! What're you doing here?!" John whipped around to see Butch DeLoria, surrounded by a crowd of blue and yellow jumpsuits, all with 101 emblazoned on them. He was too shocked to say anything, caught off guard by the people he had grown up with. After a moment he found his voice.

"Butch, didn't I tell you that I'd fuck you up if you called me that again?" he growled. The smile faded from Butch's face, replaced by a look of surprise.

"Jeez, sorry man…" he began before John cut him off.

"I'm messing with you, Butch. It's great to see you guys," he said, breaking into a wide smile as he walked toward his old friends. He grabbed Butch's hand and quickly embraced him, before turning to face Susie Mack and wrapping her up in a huge hug before letting go. "Susie! How have you been? And you, Christine?" The introductions were made for those that hadn't met as they made their way to the bar and ordered the first round. John was so distracted by his happiness at seeing his old friends that he didn't notice the group of Brotherhood members filing into the back of the bar.

* * *

The night had been much livelier at the Four-Horned Bull than it would have been back in her room. Emily had been able to forget some of the frustration she had felt that week over dinner and drinks with her friends. And she had noticed a man at the bar, socializing with those around him but otherwise alone. He was tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She had been glancing at him all night, and had caught him eyeing her, although he had quickly glanced away when she looked toward him. This had not gone unnoticed by Julie Moore, one of Emily's best friends.

"Are you just going to eye-fuck that guy all night, or talk to him?" she asked, leaning forward so the others wouldn't hear. Emily laughed.

"What do you think I should do?"

"Maybe walk over and introduce yourself? He's been checking you out all night, you look hot. Do it," Julie urged. Emily rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she replied, standing up. "Watch my stuff." Adjusting her dress, she made her way over to the man. He noticed her approaching and turned to face her.

"Hello there," he said, preempting her greeting.

"Emily," she said, extending her hand. He took it lightly in his. "What's your name?" He smiled at her.

"You have to promise not to laugh," he said. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Ok…promise."

"Achilles. My name is Achilles." The corner of her lip twitched up, but she remained impassive, staring the man in the eyes.

"Is there a story behind that?" she asked as she pulled up a seat.

"There is. I need a drink first, though. What're you having?"

"Whatever you are."

"Scotch work?" She nodded her assent. "Hey, Davy, two scotches down here." The bartender made the drinks quickly and served them neat.

"So what's the story?" Emily asked. The man laughed.

"My dad was the teacher in the town I grew up in. Little place, on the border with the NCR. Anyway, the old man was a smart guy, read everything he could. And he loved The Iliad. So he named me after his favorite character in it."

"Fair enough," she replied, sipping her drink.

"My turn," Achilles replied. "What's your story?"

"My story is long," she began. She took another sip from her drink, and then started from when she was 18.

* * *

They were into their third round of drinks before John realized who else was in the bar with them. He had heard a voice behind him, one that was familiar. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he had seen Sarah Lyons, back turned to him. He'd seen her from that angle enough to recognize her without seeing her face. The people around her gave it away. The huge black man was Kodiak, and he could see the face of Colvin over Sarah's shoulder. _Shit. This could get ugly._ He tried to push the thought out of his mind as he turned back to his friends. They had spent their time catching up over the drinks, talking about the Vault and the changes there, old friends who had come and gone, childhood memories. After enough time had passed that John thought he wouldn't sound pathetic, he asked what was on his mind.

"How's Amata doing, Susie?" She smiled as Christine laughed.

"She's good, JJ. Working too hard. We asked her to come tonight, but she didn't feel comfortable leaving the Vault."

"God dammit," John swore. Susie laughed.

"Still miss her, huh?"

"Yeah. Every day. Give her my love, ok?"

"I will, JJ. Don't worry about it. What's going on…"

"Holy shit. Look who it is. John Thompson," a woman's voice interrupted. _Dusk,_ he thought. _She always was a bitch. _He spun around to see Dusk, and the rest of the Lyons' Pride, sidling up to the bar. There were three new faces, but the rest he recognized.

"Hi, Dawn," he responded with mock sweetness. She scowled. He saw Sarah staring at him. The awkwardness there was palpable. Next to her was a big man that John didn't recognize. The orientation of his body to Sarah's, the proximity, the awkwardness of the eye contact with John…_so this is who she's banging now. Big fucker. _

"Hi, Sarah," he said, nodding at her. "How's your dad?" That drew a round of glares from the Pride. The only one that didn't look like he wanted to throw down was Colvin.

"He's fine. And you?" she replied. _This is just as terse as the last time we spoke._

"Just loving life in Megaton. Catching up with some old friends here." There was a brief moment of silence before he turned to Bonny. The look on her face made it clear she didn't like where this was going. He could see Brock tensing up, preparing to break up anything that may happen.

"Bonny, put my old squad's next round on my tab," he said. Turning back to the Pride, he raised his whiskey in a salute before shooting it. "Enjoy your drinks, guys. If you'll excuse me," he trailed off, turning back to the group from the Vault. They looked concerned. The only one who didn't was Jericho, looking down at his drink.

"Not this shit again," he muttered under his breath before finishing the glass.

"Everything cool, JJ?" Butch asked worriedly. John didn't want to drag his friends into his grudge with the Brotherhood. Before he could respond, a voice behind him spoke up.

"JJ? They call you JJ?" John turned to find the big man laughing.

"Yeah, they do. And who the fuck are you?" There was an intake of breath from behind him.

"Fuck, here we go," Jericho muttered, somewhat bitterly, before rising from his chair. John heard him approaching his side. The smile disappeared from the man's face.

"McPherson. Knight-Captain Liam McPherson," he replied.

"Knight-Captain, huh? Looks like you outrank me," John said, laughing. "You look too big to be a Wasteland recruit, so I'm guessing you came from California?"

"I did," he replied proudly.

"Funny, I don't remember seeing you in the war," John said. Sarah stepped between them and, facing McPherson, put a hand on his chest.

"Liam, drop it. The Elder will be seriously pissed if anything happens," she said. McPherson took a step back. John couldn't drop it, though. The alcohol was loosening the control he'd normally have over his emotions. He was still pissed at them for using him as their lackey.

"Were you one of the ones that used to come in and act like you'd done something after Fawkes and I cleared an area?" he yelled across the room. The Brotherhood stopped moving and stared at him. The anger was obvious in their eyes.

"You and your pet Frankenstein wouldn't have done shit without us," Dusk spat. John sneered at her.

"You were a great taxi service. Does it bother you knowing a super-mutant did more for the Wasteland in nine months than you lot did in 20 years?" _Hit a nerve with that one._ McPherson moved passed Sarah, who had stopped restraining him.

"We spilled our blood for 20 years for these people. We've done more for them than you ever have. We didn't abandon them as soon as we could," he said.

"You have never been better than me at anything," John fired back, stepping forward.

"Well, here we go…" Jericho said. John and McPherson sized each other up. _He's big and looks strong. Hopefully slow and over confident. _To the side, Kodiak was convincing Brock that this was just between the two men. McPherson moved in first, driving in and attempting to tackle John. He side stepped and McPherson spun to face him. He was much lighter on his feet than John expected. He fell into a boxer's stance, the way Officer Gomez had taught him back in the Vault as McPherson came in. The big man feinted with his left and John bit on it. He had time to realize his mistake and brace himself slightly before a right hand smashed into his face. He staggered back, hearing the Brotherhood cheering as McPherson closed on him. He threw a wide hook, which John rolled under on instinct. As the punch flew over his head, he drove a hook home into the man's ribs. McPherson grunted and stepped back before resuming the assault. John had not expected him to be so fast. McPherson was obviously well trained, and John's rustiness was catching up to him. He tried to distract McPherson with a left before hurling a right at him. It was easily blocked, and McPherson stepped in, grabbing John by the collar and necklace and slamming a right hand into his face, breaking John's nose. As John fell to the ground, dazed, he felt the necklace rip from around his neck.

_Amata gave me that, motherfucker! _McPherson stepped toward John without any urgency, confident in his victory. Rage flashed through John's mind, suppressing the pain and focusing his mind.

"Get him, Liam!" he heard Dusk yell. _Bitch. _McPherson approached John, lying on his back, and made a catastrophic mistake. He stepped over John's legs, and as he leaned forward to grab John and pull him up, he drove a kick into the man's groin. McPherson doubled over, howling in pain. Before he could move John booted him in the face with all his strength. McPherson fell back onto the floor, blood streaming down his face. John heard a yell of excitement from the Vault dwellers.

"Atta boy, JJ!" Butch yelled. John scrambled over McPherson and, pinning him down, drove a right hand into his face. The man's nose broke under the force of it. Then a second. And a third. He felt McPherson's orbital fracture under the blows. John grunted as he drove another punch into the now unconscious man's face. The bar had gone silent except for the sound of John's punches finding their mark.

"Get off him, you psycho!" a woman yelled. Before John could respond, something slammed into his head; blurring his vision and knocking him off McPherson. Rolling to his back, he saw Dusk holding a bottle of liquor. _Must have been what she clubbed me with._ Before the woman could make another move, all hell broke loose. Christine Kendall and Susie Mack slammed into her, driving her into the ground and tearing into her with all the ferocity of a Deathclaw. The two sides set upon each other as Bonny ran to call security. The only people not engaging were Sarah and Colvin, who were desperately trying to pull the Brotherhood members back.

"Stop it! All of you stop!" Sarah yelled, to no avail. As John scanned the room, still dazed, he saw Jericho squaring off with Kodiak as Butch faced down a man John didn't recognize. John staggered to his feet and stumbled across the room to help Jericho, stepping around Susie and Christine screeching and clawing at Dusk. Jericho had Kodiak's full attention, and was caught off guard when John leapt on his back and put him in a chokehold. Kodiak stumbled back as Jericho punched the man in the solar plexus, knocking some of the wind out of him. Kodiak, unable to pry John from around his neck, did the only thing left to him and threw himself backwards, crushing John under his weight. He felt several ribs crack as the huge man fell on him, releasing his hold. Before Kodiak could take advantage of the situation, Rivet City security flooded into the room, led by Harkness.

"Break it up! All of you break it up!" he yelled as his men set about breaking up the fight. John was pulled to his feet by Jericho and Butch, instantly doubling over in pain as Harkness looked at him, his anger obvious.

"You did this again? After I specifically asked you not to?"

"…didn't…start it," John gasped out.

"Christ, this guy is fucked up, Chief," a security officer called out as they examined McPherson. Colvin and Kodiak put him under their shoulders and carried him from the room.

"We need to get him back to the Citadel. Sorry about the mess, chief," Sarah said as her men left. She shot a glance at John, a mix of anger and sadness in her eyes.

"Alright, Sentinel. Hope your guy is ok," Harkness replied as they filed out. Before she left, John managed to gasp out a goodbye.

"Nice…seeing you, Sarah. Sorry…bout your boyfriend." She looked back at him, her displeasure obvious.

"John…grow the fuck up." And with that, she left. Harkness turned to face John as Susie and Christie made their way to his side.

"Can't have you doing stuff like this, John. I'm sorry, and I like you, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave and not come back for a year. We can't have Brotherhood members being assaulted in our city."

"Typical," John grunted. "I'm going to need help getting home," he continued, addressing Butch and Jericho.

"Yeah, I'd say so," Jericho responded. "Nice job taking that Brotherhood prick, though." As they helped John to the door, he bid a last farewell to Harkness.

"Have a nice year…A3-21," he said as they turned to leave. He heard Harkness sigh before addressing Susie.

"Anyone else from Vault 101 is welcome here, Ms. Mack," he said.

"That's ok, Chief. We'll stick to Megaton from now on. You exile one of us, you exile all of us." And with that they filed through the ship, beginning the walk back to Megaton. John was by far the worst off of the group, the rest escaping with at most minor injuries.

"You sure have a way with people, JJ," she said as they walked under a bright moon.

* * *

It had turned out Achilles was Emily's sort of guy. Tall, handsome, smart…a bit young, maybe, but not so much that it would be weird. She could see her friends getting ready to leave, and she didn't want to walk home alone.

"Are you going to be in town long, Achilles?" she asked. He had mentioned traveling a fair bit for his work, but he had been vague about it.

"Another week here, then down to the Mojave for a little bit before coming back. I'm in town frequently enough, though."

"And do you have plans this weekend?" she asked.

"I was hoping I'd have plans to take you to dinner tomorrow night," he responded, smiling. She laughed.

"Sounds good to me. Want to meet me at the Followers' building at 6?" she asked, rising from her chair. He stood from his as she did, taking her hand.

"It's a date, Ms. McPherson. I'll see you then." Smiling, and blushing slightly, she turned to walk toward her friends. Julie was waiting for her, smiling.

"Told you so. He's still checking you out," she said as Emily approached, drawing more blushing.

"We're getting dinner tomorrow night," she informed Julie.

"Good. It's about time you got out there," she replied as they made their way out into the night and back home.

* * *

The trip home was miserable. John was coughing up blood, and the fact that he had vomited as well made him suspect he had a concussion as well as internal injuries. As they approached Megaton's gate, Susie and the others began to peel off. John had been lapsing in and out of consciousness the entire way as Jericho and Butch half carried, half dragged him across the Wastes. Before leaving Susie stepped in front of John and took his face in her hands. He looked at her through partially swollen and blackened eyes.

"Hey, JJ," she began softly. She was concerned at how fucked up he was. "We have to go home. But we'll try and come see you soon. Just heal up, ok?" He nodded slightly, clearly disoriented, before trying to speak.

"Tell…Amata…" he whispered. She nodded.

"I will. Don't you worry." She and the others left, heading towards 101, leaving Jericho and Butch to drag John to the Clinic. It was approaching 1 AM and Doc Church was not happy to be woken up. The displeasure was replaced by shock as he saw how messed up John was.

"Good God, what the hell did you guys do now?" he asked as they carried John in and laid him on a bed.

"Fight in Rivet City," Jericho said.

"Brotherhood again?" Doc asked. Jericho grunted in confirmation. Doc turned to face the raider before continuing. "Go get Lucy West and bring her back down here. Don't do anything to alarm her though, ok?" Jericho nodded and left the clinic to find her. John's eyes fluttered open as they spoke. He saw Doc Church and looked concerned before speaking.

"Doc…set my nose then…take me to the bomb."

"The fuck are you talking about, kid?"

"Trust…me," he wheezed. Doc shrugged as Butch looked on in confusion.

"Fair enough," Doc said, setting John's nose and drawing a cry of pain. Turning to Butch, he spoke. "Gonna need you to help me carry him out to the bomb."

"Water…" John gasped. "Put me in the water," he continued, slightly more clearly. "Butch…let me have your Pip-Boy." Butch looked slightly put off by that, but didn't complain, handing John the wrist computer as he and the Doc hauled John to his feet and carried him to the pool of water surrounding the bomb.


	7. Aftermath

**A note on chronology: Not everything is necessarily happening at the same time; just within the same time frame, as would be expected when we're dealing with two separate sides of the country. Anyway, thanks for reading and the feedback; and hopefully I will finish this blasted assignment this week and can have more up soon. **

Amata was shaken from her sleep by one of the Vault security officers. Blinking to focus her eyes on the man, he spoke.

"Ma'am, you're needed in the infirmary. There's been an incident." That got her attention. She sat up and yawned out a question.

"Incident?"

"Yes, ma'am. Something at Rivet City. Couple of our people got hurt. I don't know anything else," he replied. _Shit. _

"Let me get dressed and I'll meet you outside," she said. The security officer nodded and as he left, Amata sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes. Walking to her locker, she silently worried about her friends who had gone to Rivet City._ Maybe I should have gone…_she quickly shut the thought down. Her father insisted that she should stop second guessing herself. Being 22 and overseer already lent itself to being insecure in her decisions. She was worried about her friends, though; Susie and Christine and Wally. She hoped they were safe. Zipping on a jumpsuit, she walked out of her room and met the security officer who had roused her. Wordlessly, they wound their way through the dimly lit corridors to the clinic. The door hissed open as they approached, revealing the new Vault physician, Jane Shapiro, examining the group that had gone to Rivet City. Susie Mack was off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, looking slightly ruffled but otherwise unharmed. Next to her Christine Kendall was pinching gauze over her nose. Amata immediately made her way to them.

"What the hell happened, Susie?" Susie sighed.

"Where should I start?" she replied.

"Try the beginning," Amata responded, her voice rising slightly.

"Ok, calm down," Susie replied, drawing a glare from Amata. Christine smirked under the gauze. "So we went over to Rivet City and were in the bar, having a drink with Butch. He's doing well, by the way. Anyway, we're sitting there and guess who shows up?" Amata's stomach knotted slightly. She had a good guess, but didn't want to say it out loud in case she was wrong.

"Who?"

"JJ. JJ walks in with a buddy from Megaton." _Fuck! I should have gone!_ "Anyway, he came in, looking like his old self. Serious, Amata…the look in his eyes was like when we were young. So we're all there, having a good time, when these Brotherhood assholes show up. That woman there were rumors about JJ being with, a couple others," she began. Amata felt a flash of jealousy thinking about him being with someone else. Susie continued, oblivious. "I think he knew them from the war. Either way, long story short, JJ and this big fucker started jawing at each other…"

"Bigger than JJ?" Amata asked.

"Yeah, couple inches taller and a bit heavier. Anyway, JJ had drank a fair bit and he managed to provoke the guy. So they squared off, JJ got busted up a bit and ended up beating the shit out of the guy. It was bad. I was beginning to think I was going to have to stop him but a Brotherhood woman, different one, clubbed him over the head with a bottle." Amata felt a slight flash of anger on hearing that.

"And then?"

"Then me and Christine took the bitch down," she said, smiling. Amata felt a smile flash across her face, before quickly suppressing it. She couldn't appear to condone what had happened. Susie continued before Amata could say anything.

"We aren't doing anything with Rivet City soon, by the way. The security chief, Harkness, banned John for a year and didn't do shit to the Brotherhood. He said we could still come there, but I told him if he banned one of us, he banned all of us." Amata thought on that.

"Fair enough. No trade or trips to Rivet City. We got by without them before," she began, Susie and Christine nodding in agreement. "How is JJ? Is he ok?" Susie smiled.

"He sends his love, just so you know. He misses you," she began, before the smile faded. "He got messed up though, Amata. Bad. Broken nose, ribs, probably a concussion. I think you should go up with us on his birthday. You need to see him. And he needs to see you," she continued. "Amata, tell me the truth here. Do you still love him?"

"Yes," Amata replied simply. She shrugged her shoulders. "I can't help it. I have since we were kids." Susie nodded.

"Ok. Because I'm pretty sure he still loves you," she replied.

"Yup," Christine confirmed, removing the gauze from her nose and revealing a decent sized bruise. "It's kind of pathetic, really," she continued, smiling. Amata laughed.

"Thanks, Christine. I'm going back to bed. No more trouble for you two, ok?" They nodded.

"Good night, Amata," Susie said as the overseer left the room. Amata was suddenly wide awake as she walked back to her room. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't excited at Susie's opinion about JJ. _Maybe there's still hope for us, after all._ She was certain now, though: she had to go to Megaton on his birthday. No one had said what had happened to make him seem to care again; but maybe if he was reconnecting with the rest of the world; it would be a good time for them to reconnect. Reaching her room, she stripped off her vault uniform and crawled back into bed, her mind still racing; memories of the past morphing into dreams for the future.

* * *

Lucy had not expected to be woken by knocks on her door in the middle of the night. She was doubly surprised when she opened her door to see Jericho standing there. She was immediately put on guard, his reputation lingering in the back of her mind. As if knowing what she was thinking, he put his hands up in front of his body.

"We need you down at the Clinic. It's John." That was all he had to say.

"Shit," she replied to no one in particular. She slammed her door in Jericho's face, before hurriedly throwing on clothes. She rushed back to the door, opening it to find Jericho standing in the same spot she had left him.

"Let's go," she said, marching past him and toward the clinic. Lucy was surprised to see Lucas Simms standing by the crater with Doc Church and a man she didn't recognize; doubly so to see John lying languidly in the pool of water around the bomb. _He looks beat to shit._ Black eyes, nose that looked to have been freshly set, swollen cheeks.

"What the fuck happened?" she asked no one in particular.

"Fight at Rivet City, from what I gathered," Doc Church replied. She felt her temper flare at that.

"God dammit, John! You promised me no fights!"

"Didn't start it," he croaked back; the Geiger counter on the Pip-Boy in his lap steadily beeping away. The man Lucy didn't know spoke up.

"He really didn't, miss. By the way, I don't suppose you guys need a barber?" John broke out laughing at that, the laughter quickly becoming pained coughs. _That doesn't sound good._

"Why are you lying in that water?" she asked him. "It's radiated to hell."

"Trust me," he mumbled back. Doc Church sighed at that.

"He says that each time we ask him. I thought maybe he was delirious." As if responding to that, they heard John splash out of the water, Pip-Boy extended to Butch.

"That's all I need," he said. "This might not be pleasant to watch." He gritted his teeth in pain. Lucy thought at first she was seeing thing, before realizing that the swelling in his face truly was going down. Scanning the rest of him, she saw the black eyes fading, the nose healing before their eyes.

"What the fuck," Doc Church whispered; voicing the shock they all felt.

"Go get some Rad-Away, Doc," John said in reply. The doctor stood frozen in place, too engrossed to immediately move, before processing the request and running inside the clinic. By the time he returned the injuries to John's face had all but disappeared, leaving him clutching his side as the ribs knitted themselves back together. Silently Doc Church handed the Rad-Away to John, watching him the entire time. Another minute passed before the look of pain subsided. He popped the Rad-Away in his mouth before rising to his feet. Lucy only then realized he had stripped down to his boxer-briefs. It took John a moment to realize that they were all staring at him.

"What?" he asked, semi-innocently. There was a pause before Doc Church responded.

"Kid, I've seen some shit in my day. But what the fuck was that? Self-healing? Is that why you're indestructible?" John laughed.

"Ask Moira. I'm not indestructible, either." He turned to Lucy. "Sorry they woke you up. Want to come back to my place?" She sighed in frustration. She really shouldn't reward his misbehavior, but at the same time, it gave her an extra night on top of the week she had set.

"Alright," she replied, nodding at him. He flashed a smile at her. The other men just stared.

"Lucas, my friend Butch here is going to stay in the common room tonight. Doc, thanks for your help. I need to go crash now," he said, before taking Lucy by the hand and leading her back to his house. The four other men stared after him.

"That is not the JJ I grew up with," Butch said. "And who's the broad?"

"That's Lucy West, his…friend," Lucas replied, as Jericho snickered in the background, muttering something about a piece of ass as he left for his house. "You want to tell me what happened, Mr…"

"DeLoria. Butch DeLoria. And trouble with the Brotherhood happened." Lucas sighed.

"That young man really needs to figure his shit out," Lucas replied. "Or his grudges will be trouble for us all."

* * *

Elder Lyons woke before dawn, as was his custom. He found in his old age that he needed less sleep. Putting on his robes, he stepped into the hall outside his chambers to find his old friend, Reginald Rothchild, waiting for him. That was unusual.

"Owyn. You should get to the infirmary. There's been an…incident." That got the Elder's attention. With the drastic decrease in violence throughout the Wasteland, any incident that warranted being reported to the Elder in the early morning was a cause for concern.

"What sort of incident?" he asked guardedly as them made their way to the infirmary.

"Something at Rivet City. I only caught snippets of it," Rothchild replied. Lyons' stomach twisted at that.

"Sarah…"

"Is unharmed, Owyn. I don't know much else," Rothchild said, cutting Lyons off. They made the rest of the trip to the infirmary in silence, Lyons' mind turning over as they did. The two men entered the infirmary, Lyons staring in shock at the sight before him. On the far side of the room, McPherson lay on a table, being held down by Kodiak and Glade as the medics attempted to work on him.

"Just give him Med-X!" Sarah screamed at them, eyes watery. Owyn's heart dropped for his daughter. Her relationship with McPherson was a secret from no one, and contrary to what she may have thought, he had no problem with it. McPherson was from an old Brotherhood family; his parents had been proud members who had traveled east with him, and he felt certain that the elder McPherson sibling, Emily, would be a Paladin back in California by now. Owyn Lyons looked at his daughter, standing next to a seated Knight Dusk, who had scratch marks covering her face.

"Sarah, what happened?" he asked her in a gentle voice.

"The Lone fucking Wandered happened, Elder." Owyn's nostrils flared in anger at her response. _That man._

"Tell me what happened. All of it," he commanded her. She nodded.

"We went to Rivet City to get drinks last night. There was a group from Vault 101 there, and he was with them. It was quiet for a while, until Dusk noticed him," she continued, gesturing to the woman next to her. The Elder sighed. Dusk was not the most diplomatic of women. "Anyway, he had been drinking, and we had been drinking, and there was some shit talking. It was about to end, but then Liam heard one of the Vaulties call him JJ, and laughed. It went to hell from there," she finished.

"That doesn't explain why one of my knights has multiple medics attending to him."

"They fought. Liam had him down but John managed to turn it around and got a dominant position," she replied. Dusk smirked.

"I clubbed him over the head with a bottle, for what it's worth," she said. Kodiak spoke up from where he stood.

"Pretty sure I broke a couple of his ribs, too," he called out, attention still on McPherson.

"Was it worth it?" the Elder asked, exasperation in his voice.

"He insulted the Brotherhood. He called us a taxi service, said that his super-mutant friend did more in nine months than we did in 20 years. Said we were never better than him at anything," Sarah replied. Anger flashed through the Elder's normally calm mind.

"The arrogance of that boy is boundless," he replied, cold fury in his voice. He turned to Rothchild.

"When is the next water caravan due to go to Megaton?" he asked.

"About two weeks, I believe. Why?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"Put a larger guard on it. I want that man brought in. He will answer for this," Owyn said. Sarah immediately spoke up.

"Elder, I request that the Lyons Pride be given the honor. It's our man he assaulted," she said. Owyn looked at his daughter with pride. There was a hard ferocity in her eyes.

"Granted, Sentinel." Rothchild couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Elder, is this wise? He still commands a great deal of respect…"

"He is a chem and alcohol addled boy-"

"Yes, one that just severely injured one of the best fighters in our chapter. Owyn, this is…"

"I've given the command, Reginald. Send word to Three-Dog. Tell him to stop airing those ridiculous radio programs. The Wasteland needs to see him for what he is-an ordinary man. The Lone Wanderer is not needed anymore. The Wasteland has us," he finished, before taking his leave from the infirmary. Rothchild watched him leave. _This won't end well,_ he thought.

* * *

John woke much later than normal, head throbbing. _Yup, definitely a concussion. Apparently the mutation doesn't work for brain injuries._ Lucy wasn't in bed. She must have already woken. Staggering from bed, he resisted the impulse to immediately inject Med-X. He didn't want to risk it with a concussion. He instead limped downstairs to find Lucy with the radio on, eating a bowl of Sugar Bombs. She looked up and smiled at him.

"There you are. Was beginning to worry."

"My head is throbbing. How're you?"

"Fine," she replied. "Three-Dog reported on your fight. He's already trying to turn people against you. Also, you apparently got your ass kicked," she continued, giving him an appraising eye. "Which is odd, because I don't see any injuries," she continued, smiling. John sighed and sat in the other chair at the table. He really didn't want to talk about his mutation. _Time to change the subject._

"So…one week. What'd you want to do?"

"Besides you?" she asked, smiling. The smile faded quickly. "You know, I don't think we've ever traveled together. And I can't think of a better guide than you. So why don't we go somewhere?" John thought for a moment before nodding.

"Ok. Go ahead and get your stuff together and we'll set off," he replied, catching her off guard.

"Right now?" she asked, mildly incredulous.

"No time like the present," he replied, leaning in to kiss her. She giggled.

"Why don't we take care of some…business here first?" she asked, kissing him back. He laughed before picking her up and carrying her upstairs, ignoring the shooting pain in his knee. Once there, they started their attempt to make the week count.

* * *

Emily woke up, light streaming through the window of the place Achilles rented in Shady Sands. It was a reasonably comfortable apartment. Their first date, earlier that week, had gone well enough to warrant a second. And a third. And the third had been good enough to warrant sex. Emily had almost forgotten how enjoyable that could be. She had wound up spending most nights that week at his place. She was intrigued by this man. He was friendly, seemingly kind hearted; but there was an air of mystery too. As if there was something in his past he was running from. He was always vague about his upbringing. Emily figured she didn't have much of a right to complain about that. She hadn't exactly been forthcoming about her background with the Brotherhood. She climbed out of bed and went towards the sounds, and smells, coming from the kitchen. She walked in to find Achilles standing over the stove shirtless, frying something. He turned to greet her, smiling. _He looks even better with his shirt off._ He was lithe but muscular, solid without being bulky. _Must be from all the walking he does._

"Want breakfast?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied, kissing his back before going to sit at the table. He joined her as soon as the food was done, tearing into his like a starving man. She had worked him hard the night before…

"You have to go back to the Mojave tomorrow?" she asked. He nodded as he swallowed what was in his mouth before responding.

"Yeah. Should be gone maybe two or three weeks before I get back." She tried to hide her disappointment at that. She was enjoying the time she spent with him.

"Sounds good," she said, before silently finishing her food. She had to remind herself not to get attached. Especially not to someone who wandered around like he did. For all she knew, he had a girl in every city. And she had her work to focus on. She had managed to bury her frustration, but the Capital Wasteland was still nagging at the back of her mind. All she could do, though, was bide her time and hope something would happen to change her friends in the Followers' minds.


	8. Love and Memories

**Alright, let's see how this one goes. Finally building up to some big points in the story. Thanks for reading so far!**

Even by train it had taken a day and a half to reach his destination. Achilles stepped from the passenger car and into the midday sun. The ride from Shady Sands had been uneventful and quiet, a welcome development. He would be lying if he said he was sad to leave that city of profligates. Every time he went there he felt a powerful urge to bathe afterwards. The alcohol, the crush of self-absorbed, directionless people, the chem-abusing vagrants; everything about it represented everything he hated about the NCR. The woman he had met though, Emily, had been a welcome diversion. She had actually made him wait more than half an hour to have her, which was different than most women he'd met there. He had almost forgotten how to seduce a woman; such was the ease he had in bedding Californian women. He knew his looks were part of the reason. And he had always had a way with words, both Latin and English. That was why he was a _frumentarius_. Tasked to wander, obtaining information and when possible sabotaging the NCR. The mission left a great deal to his discretion. It was why he had been drinking in the Four-Horned Bull, the night Emily had approached him. The establishment was relatively high-class, as far as Shady Sands went. He had been hoping to be able to eavesdrop on a drunk NCR representative or two; perhaps a military officer if he was lucky. And on that front he had been successful. He had learned General Lee Oliver was being sent to the Mojave to take command there. He had not, however, been expecting to be approached by a Follower of the Apocalypse. Achilles had always been somewhat dismissive of the Followers. Naïve do-gooders, he had thought, unwilling to do what must be done. She had been different, though. Over the course of the week they had spent together she had told him she approached him because she had seen him looking at her. He hadn't told her that he had been looking because of how shockingly revealing her dress was. Mission or not, he was still a man. He couldn't say why he didn't tell her that. She was in no way essential to the continued success of his mission. And the mission was what required his focus now. He had wound his way out of town and began walking down the Long 15 toward Mojave Outpost. The rail line off to the side of the highway was reserved for strictly military use, transporting men and supplies to the front. Many of the soldiers on the trains were fresh from basic training, a laughable eight weeks of learning to follow orders and basic weapons skills. Those with assignments to infantry units received follow on training once they reached the Mojave, with the support soldiers simply reporting to their units to learn their jobs. Achilles, on the other hand, had been trained since he was five-years old. It had hardened him mind, body, and soul; and made him ready to do what was necessary to ensure Caesar's victory. Achilles had never personally met Caesar or, for that matter, any other _frumentarii_ that he knew of, outside of the men under his command. This way, in the unlikely event of his capture, he would be unable to compromise any other man working in NCR territory. _And I am still in NCR territory,_ he reflected as he reached his safe house, as it were. A cave in an elevated outcrop of rocks. He was due to meet the three men under his command in it later that evening. Entering the cave, he was surprised to find them already there, alone with some unexpected company-four NCR soldiers, lying bound against the far wall. _Fools!_ He raged to himself. If their commander reported them UA, NCR troops would fan out looking for them and risk all of their lives.

"What is the meaning of this?" he seethed to Julius, his immediate subordinate. The man looked confused.

"NCR troopers to make an example of, Achilles," he replied in English. Achilles noticed the captives watching them, a look of pure fear on the faces of the group, two men and two women.

"Fool!" Achilles yelled in Latin. They were isolated enough that he wasn't concerned about being heard. The change in the NCR soldiers was immediately apparent when they heard the Latin. What had been fear became terror. He heard one of the women try to scream behind the gag in her mouth. Their terror was somewhat heart-warming to Achilles. He operated in a different manner than Vulpes Inculta, although they had similar methods to their operations. No one outside the Legion ever saw Achilles in uniform and lived. When he attacked it was always far from anywhere there was a known Legion presence. His attacks were designed to spread fear amongst the enemy, reminding them that the Legion was everywhere, could be anyone.

"And why am I a fool?" Julius replied, also in Latin.

"Do you think the NCR won't search for them when they're reported as absent?" he replied heatedly. Julius laughed, further fanning his anger.

"Brother, I am not the idiot you think. All four of them were going home on leave. They won't be reported missing by their officers for two weeks, at least. By then we will be long gone." Achilles' anger began to subside. In fact, Julius had done well if this was the case.

"Do you have your armor?" Achilles asked.

"We do," Julius replied.

"Change into it. We'll deal with them tonight," Achilles responded, peeling out of his clothes before pulling his armor from its hiding place. He pulled it on; the weight reassuring in a way, before sitting around the fire his men had built.

"How did you take them?" Achilles asked, nodding his head at the soldiers.

"The local bar. They had been in the Mojave and got drunk at the earliest opportunity. The women approached my boys," he said, gesturing to the two men sitting next to him. Anyway, the boys convinced the women to leave with them. The two men objected to that, eventually caught up to us when we were halfway here. We took them all at that point. One of our assassins was with us, he moved on this morning. Dragged them here and decided to wait for you."

"How kind. Were the women raped?"

"No. We thought you may want them first." Achilles felt a flash of annoyance at that. The annoyance was compounded by a fleeting thought of Emily.

"Julius, do I ever take women like that?" he asked.

"No," the man admitted. "But there's a first for everything."

"No, Julius. You know that is not he we work. We are _frumentarii,_ not recruit legionaries unable to govern our cocks."

"Very well, Achilles," Julius replied. The rest of the wait until darkness passed in silence. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Achilles judged it dark enough to move.

"Do you have nails and wood?" he asked Julius.

"Yes," the man replied, a look of eager anticipation in his eyes. Achilles felt no joy in what had to be done. It was simply his duty. The legionaries pulled the troopers to their feet and, with the necessary supplies, marched the NCR soldiers toward the train tracks. Evenly spaced along the rails were electrical poles, carrying power from Hoover Dam back into the NCR. The troopers seemed to realize the fate that awaited them as they neared, attempting to resist moving further. Their resistance was feeble, however. Achilles looked at his men.

"What is the command?" Julius asked. Achilles surveyed the group of legionaries and cowering prisoners. Disgust filled his heart as he looked upon the NCR soldiers. The oldest was perhaps 22.

"_Crucifigamus!" _he replied coldly.

* * *

Waking up alone still felt odd after the final week with Lucy. They had done what they had set out to do, though-it had counted. They had traveled by day, first to Arefu and then to places she had never been, and by night they had each other every way they could. John wasn't willing to admit it to anyone, but on some level he missed her now that they weren't romantic with each other. He wasn't sure if it was her or just the sex he missed, though. Getting out of bed, he realized the date. July 13. His birthday. _Ugh. Another year closer to the grave._ His house was in a state of disarray, a result of the packing he had been doing for the trip. There were at least some stray clothes lying around, however, and he pulled them on. He did a double take at the desk, before picking up his Pip-Boy and strapping it to his wrist. He hadn't worn it regularly in years, not since the war had finished. It seemed like a good time to get back in the habit of wearing it, as it would be a necessary tool on the trek out west. He glanced quickly at the time, surprised to see it was already 10:00 AM. John bounded down the stairs and out the door in one motion, stopping in his tracks at the sight of Fawkes waiting for him.

"You're back. How is Leo doing?"

"He is well. Happy birthday, my friend," Fawkes replied, rising to his feet. John smiled at the birthday greeting.

"Thank you, Fawkes. Will you be staying here until we leave, then?" he asked as they made their way into the center of town. John spotted Lucy, already at work at the Brass Lantern. He made his way over and pulled up a chair. Lucy smiled as he did, Fawkes taking a seat next to him.

"Morning, Luce. Got any sugar bombs lying around?" he asked, smiling back at her.

"Sure do," she replied, going inside the shack and returning a moment later with a bowl of sugar bombs and Brahmin milk.

"Thanks," he said to her as she placed it down in front of him. She smiled, a hint of sadness mixed with it. John secretly felt awful when he saw that look. He was beginning to think that there was no such thing as a clean break. It seemed all the women he had been with consistently-Amata, Sarah, Moira, and Lucy, all had some strange place in his heart. Even if he wasn't with them, the last thing he wanted to do was cause them pain. It had been idiotic of him to assume it would just remain sex for Lucy too, he realized now. All he could do, though, was hope she wouldn't be hurt for too long and would know that he wasn't leaving her specifically. They sat making small talk, Fawkes and Lucy and him, while he ate his breakfast. It had felt like they had been there for a long time when John sensed something behind him. The look on Lucy's face gave it away. He spun around in his chair to see Lucas Simms, Doc Church, and Susie Mack in front of a small crowd of people.

"Happy birthday!" they yelled as a group. John burst out laughing. He was actually surprised, which was rare for him. He stood from his seat and walked to them, shaking Lucas and Doc's hands and hugging Susie. He spotted lots of familiar faces in the crowd. There was Nova, and Butch was there, standing with a group from Vault 101. He smiled widely at them, scanning the crowd, secretly hoping to see Amata's face in it, before looking up to see Moriarty raising his glass in salute. John nodded at him, before turning back to Lucy.

"Did you know about this?" he asked her. She laughed at him.

"Of course I knew. I convinced Jenny and Andy to donate some of the drinks," she replied. John followed her gaze to a table at the far side of the crater, stacked with bottles of alcohol.

"How did you get all that?" he asked, gaping at the huge supply.

"Bought what we didn't already have from Moriarty," Doc replied from behind him. John turned around to face the crowd. His heart swelled at seeing the group, full of friends and people he cared about.

"Thank you. All of you, thank you. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're here. Now let's have fun!" he yelled to them, before walking over toward the booze table. He heard laugher and talking behind him as the crowd broke into groups and people began introducing themselves to each other. Susie and Butch met him halfway to the table.

"Jesus, JJ," Susie began. "You don't even look like you were in a fight. What the fuck?" He laughed at that.

"Nice to see you too, Susie. I heal quickly, what can I say," he replied, pouring himself a Scotch. Butch mumbled an agreement under his breath, drawing a laugh from John. Susie smiled at him, eyes quickly flitting back to the crowd.

"Well, that's probably for the best. I have a surprise you for," she replied, barely able to contain the glee on her face.

"And what's that?" John asked, taking a sip from his drink.

"Hi, JJ," a soft voice said behind him. He nearly choked on the mouthful of Scotch. That voice still lived in his dreams. He slowly turned around to look into a pair of hazel eyes that he knew with an absurd familiarity. He had spent 19 years looking into those eyes…

_ It was his 10__th__ birthday and he was looking into her eyes. _

_ "Do you like your party? I planned it," she said proudly._

_ "It's great, Amata! Thanks for this," he replied._

_ "And I have a surprise for you…"_

_ "Is it a date with Christine Kendall?"_

_ "What? Ew, I didn't even think you liked girls like that…" I do like girls like that, Amata. Just not Christine, he thought, pining as he looked into the face of his secret crush…_

_ He was 13 and they were in the Vault's social hall for a dance. They had been dancing and laughing all night. He was having a hard time controlling how much he liked her now. Impulsively, he leaned forward and pecked her on the lips. She looked shocked for a moment before giggling. John felt horror at what he had just done as he blushed furiously._

_ "Do you want to be my boyfriend, JJ?" she asked, stifling laughter._

_ "Yes," he stammered out, looking at the floor. She giggled more._

_ "Ok," she replied, kissing his cheek. "I'll be your girlfriend." He looked at her in disbelief._

_ "Really?" he asked. This was almost too good to be true._

_ "Yes," she replied, laughing more. "What took you so long?"_

_ They laid pressed against each other in the darkness of their secret room in the Vault. They had found it in the past few months and had promptly appropriated it for their own use. Of course, once they hadn't had to worry about someone walking in on them, their make-out sessions had escalated quickly. Everything was still new and exciting. Thankfully Amata had kept her wits about her and made John get her birth control from his father. James had simply nodded, well aware of their relationship and secretly glad that they were using common sense when John had asked him about it. And now they spent as many nights as they could this way. Tonight was a celebration, though. They had just taken their G.O.A.T. that day and gotten their placements._

_ "So, the Overseer and the chaplain. Odd couple, huh?" she asked, head resting on his chest as she lay in his arms. He laughed softly. They always whispered when they lay together in the dark._

_ "I don't think so," he replied, stroking her hair idly. "I don't think anything is odd as long as the people love each other." He felt her head move to look up at him. He glanced down, just able to make out her features in the dark._

_ "Do you think it will last forever?" she asked._

_ "What?" he replied, caught off guard._

_ "Us. This."_

_ "I hope so," he said, looking at her. He was 16 years old, and couldn't remember a time when he didn't love her. What was more, he didn't want to imagine a time where he might not have her. So instead he just reached down and kissed her._

Amata looked in John's eyes as they stared silently at each other. Susie and Butch shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Perhaps they had been expecting something more dramatic. Internally, Amata was in turmoil. Her stomach felt like it was doing backflips, and her heart had started fluttering as he had turned to face her. She had braced herself for John to look injured, as Susie had described the fight to her. She was surprised, then, that he didn't have a mark on his face to show for it, less than two weeks removed. Amata couldn't stop herself from running an eye over him. He was wearing a white t-shirt and green pants. Mostly though, John looked the same to her-same light brown hair, same green eyes, same handsome, albeit more worn, face and broad shoulders. He had gained some weight, too. Not fat, just not as lean as he had been when she had last seen him. The silence had become near unbearable, as she decided to take a gamble and break the silence.

"You got fat," she said, hoping he'd remember the playful ribbing they had always given each other growing up. He stared at her for a brief second in surprise, before a corner of his lip twisted up. He looked at her with an appraising eye.

"I see your huge ass hasn't gone anywhere," he replied, eyes cast over her body. He was thrown off not seeing her in a Vault uniform. Instead she was wearing a spring dress. Even in the dress you could see her curves, though. She burst out laughing as he broke into a smile, the two of them covering the ground between them quickly. Leaning forward, he wrapped her up in his arms and lifted her off the ground. She buried her face in his neck as he did, trying to hide the tears of relief.

"I missed you," he whispered as he held her.

"I missed you too," she replied, kissing his cheek as he set her back on the ground.

* * *

_I will not hurt Lucy. I will not hurt Lucy. _The words went through his head like a mantra as he looked at Amata. While he was beyond happy to see her, he was painfully aware that there was another girl, one with feelings for him, nearby. So he looked at Amata and smiled, fighting the urge to kiss her.

"Why are you here, Amata?" he asked.

"For your birthday. Duh," she replied sarcastically, before turning serious. "I just…had to see you. Susie told me about Rivet City, and said you might be leaving, and I just could feel that I had to come." In one sentence his world began crumbling. He was supposed to leave in four days. He had not been expecting to see her before he did. And now that she was there he remembered how agonizing it had been to leave her before. _Remain strong,_ his mind whispered.

"I'm glad you came," he replied. "Have you met anyone here?" She shook her head no. "Come on then. Let me introduce you to my friends," he said, putting his hand on her back and guiding her towards Lucas and Doc, talking to Fawkes near the bomb. Susie and Butch watched as they walked away.

"Three years and they still love each other. That's some serious shit," Susie whispered to Butch. He grunted back, apparently not as moved by the sight.

"I hope this doesn't mean he's staying. I was hoping to use his house while he's gone," he replied, drawing laughter from Susie.

"I guess some people never do change. Thanks, Butch," she replied, before wading into the crowd and back to the group from 101.

* * *

John wasn't alone with Amata until that evening, after the festivities had ended. They sat outside the gates of Megaton, watching as the sun sank below the horizon. Without realizing it, or even meaning to, they had reached out and grabbed each other's hands. He had explained his plans to her as they had sat there, told her that he was leaving in four days. She had been less upset than he had expected by that, had simply said she wanted to spend the next three days with him before he left. The group from Vault 101 was spending the night in the common room in Megaton, but John had assumed Amata would stay with him. And though he hadn't said it, he couldn't wait to hold her in private again. Once the sun had finally disappeared, he turned back to her.

"You spending the night at my place?" he asked.

"I can stay in the common room, if you prefer," she replied. Her tone made it obvious what she wanted.

"No. I want you with me," he replied as they began to make their way to his house. It was a short walk, and the town was largely quiet now. Wadsworth greeted them as they entered, Amata looking around the now disorganized house.

"It's not normally like this. I've been packing," he said, noticing her wandering eyes. They looked at each other across the room as the door shut behind John. He took a moment to appreciate how beautiful she was. Her skin was soft and unweathered by the sun and wind; her body was toned and nicely curved, a side effect of the body image issues she'd had as a teenager. They looked at each other for a moment before silently deciding on the same thing and setting on each other, hungrily kissing as if they would never have another chance. John cupped her face in his hands as they did, before they set about undressing each other.

"God, I missed you," she gasped out as he unbuttoned the back of her dress. She shrugged out of it as he did, letting it drop to the floor and revealing a body that was even better shaped than John remembered. She began to unbutton his pants as they continued kissing, breaking apart as his pants tumbled to the floor. The words spilled out as he unfastened her bra.

"I love you, Amata," he whispered as the last of her clothes came off.

"I love you too," she replied, pulling his shirt off as she did. John didn't want to wait to have her. He pulled her close to him, kissing her as he picked her up and laid her back on the table. They broke apart for a moment, staring at each other intensely.

"I want you," she whispered, her hands running through his hair as the other wandered his back. He nodded and entered her, both their eyes going wide as he did. And then, as she moved her hips with him, they tried to make up for lost time.


	9. Goodbyes

Amata was woken by the sound of John moving around the room. She had become a light sleeper since becoming Overseer, and the noise of John's morning routine was more than enough to bring her to consciousness. She lay in bed under the thin sheet that served as a blanket; more than enough during summer in the Capital. She watched the person she still thought of as her man move across the room before taking a seat and twisting around, drawing a string of pops from his back. Unaware of her eyes on him, he removed a syringe from the drawer of his desk and tapped out the air bubbled before injecting it into his femoral artery. Amata's heart sank at the sight. _Susie was right. Med-X._ The sadness was overwhelmed by anger flashing through her mind. _Med-X? What happened to the strong willed JJ I grew up with? _She sat up in bed, allowing the sheet to drop to her waist as she did. John jumped slightly, unaware that she was awake.

"What the fuck was that? Med-X?" she hissed at him. He looked surprised by the question.

"Yeah," he began. "For my knee. I injured it…"

"Bullshit," she interrupted. "Susie told me she thought you were hooked on it. When did this start?" The confusion on his face changed to anger. _Really? One night together and she's already giving me shit?_

"I don't know, sometime after you kicked me out of the Vault?" he replied, voice rising. Amata was taken aback by the venom in his voice. He realized he had been too harsh as well, with a look of regret crossing his face almost as soon as the words left his lips.

"Sorry," he continued before she could say anything. "I'm sorry, Amata. I'm just not used to people questioning me or what I do out here. And I wasn't expecting it from you after all this time."

"What does time have to do with it?" she replied, a look of annoyance on her face. "Out here you may be some Wasteland-wandering Messiah, but I know the real you. You're still _my _JJ," she continued, putting extra emphasis on the possession. "And I am not losing you to a Med-X addiction. Not when I just got you back," she finished, looking him in the eyes. His irritation with her eased slightly at that. A smile flashed across his face.

"Got me back, huh? Is that what you want? Once I get back from this trip, I mean."

"You know, for a smart guy you're pretty slow on the uptake. Yes, JJ. When you get back that is what I want. Us, like we were before. Like we talked about when we were kids." He smiled at her.

"You know, I've spent the past three years trying to believe you weren't coming back. You could have picked a better time," he said, gesturing to the bags lying around the room. She sighed.

"JJ, I can't fix that now. But we can try to make up for it," she replied. "We have three full days. Let's just take them as they come, ok?" Her voice, her gentle reminder to take it a day at a time, helped ease some of the tension John had felt building over the past few days about this trip. They looked at each other from across the room for a moment before she spoke again. "Now come back to bed," she said, patting the space on the mattress next to her. He broke out in laughter as he stood up, still without clothes from the night before.

"Yes, Overseer," he replied as he strode back to the bed and stretched out beside her. She poked him in the ribs accusingly as he wrapped her up.

"I hate being called Overseer," she whispered to him. "Don't do it." _She always was commanding,_ he thought.

"Want to know a secret?" he asked her. She raised her eyebrows before nodding at him to continue. "I hate that title. Messiah. These people have no idea, the things I've done. And being called that…well, you know my faith," he told her. She looked at him as if trying to puzzle something out.

"How did you do it? I could never imagine the JJ that I grew up with killing someone," she replied.

"I guess I just find a way to justify it. When I first came out of the Vault it was kill or be killed. And my faith never said anything about not defending myself. As time went along that changed. I told myself that I couldn't help these people if I was dead or a pacifist. The killing became necessary evil. A means to an end. I don't like it," he continued, looking down at Amata, intently listening. "For what it's worth, I talk my way out of things when I can. And I've never compromised my core values." She nodded at him, the look on her face resembling acceptance, if not exactly approval.

"It's just…hard to wrap my head around," she said. "Like there are two of you. One of them, the only one I've seen, is a sweet, friendly guy. And then the other, the one the stories talk about…fearless. Merciless. Killing mutants and fucking girls all across the Wasteland…" she trailed off. His heart skipped a beat at that. He was not discussing his conquests with Amata, not when she had just come back into his life and everything felt so fragile.

"Don't believe everything you hear," he replied, his tone making it clear that was the end of that topic. _Besides, I was never fearless,_ he thought. If there was one feeling he associated with his adventures it was fear. Close behind it though was a feeling of being alive. He was ashamed to admit it, but the war had given him a feeling of being alive; a sense of purpose that he found he needed. Every day had taken on new meaning when he realized that it could be his last. Amata's voice brought him back from his reverie.

"What should we do with the time we have left?"

"Is there anywhere you haven't been; anything you haven't seen?"

"I've been to most of the major settlements. Never up north, though. Any ideas? You know this place better than me," she replied. A smile crossed his face. He knew exactly where to take her; something that she'd never forget.

"Yeah, I know a place or two," he replied, grinning at her. Before she could reply he leaned forward to kiss her. The Oasis and Zeta could wait.

* * *

Achilles sipped from his canteen as he made his way towards Nipton under the scorching Mojave sun. He had his sleeves rolled up as far as he could, which did little to cool him down. It had given him an impressive tan on his forearms, however. He could practically feel his skin tingling from the sun's glare. It had been difficult even entering the Mojave along the Long 15 this trip, something he had not previously experienced. Security had been increased and there was a back-up of caravans at the Mojave Outpost, the result of dangerous conditions on the road. The fighting coming to a head with the Legion hadn't helped matters any. _Good,_ he thought. _Let them fear us. Let them waste their resources chasing ghosts while the Legate prepares to smash them._ He had been able to pass through Mojave Outpost with an explanation that he wasn't continuing on the 15 and an adequate bribe to one of the MPs in charge of clearing traffic to pass. On his right, as he made his way along the road, he crossed the sign marking the old state line, a faded blue affair that said "Welcome to California" in yellow letters. Nipton wouldn't be far now. Achilles trudged on in a heat-induced trance, uncharacteristically oblivious to the world around him. It took a cloud of dust kicking up in front of him for his mind to register that the crack he had just heard was a gunshot. _Shit!_ His eyes darted around, spotting the group of raiders ahead of him at the same time that his mind registered an outcrop of rocks off to the side of the road. He dove behind it, pulling out his handgun and flipping off the safety as more rounds impacted the opposite side of the rocks. _Four of them. Three with small arms, one with a knife. Let them get into range first. Kill the knife carrier so he doesn't get around you while you're distracted. _He risked a glance around the rock, spotting the knife wielding raider rapidly approaching. The view afforded him the chance to see how the other three were armed as well. 10mm pistols and a small caliber rifle, more useful for hunting varmint than people. He decided to take a chance on the raiders being so high on chems that they wouldn't be able to shoot straight and stood up from the cover he was in, taking aim at the knife wielder. He was unable to fire before the man slashed at him. Achilles instinctively dodged as the knife whistled past him. He pivoted back into a fighting stance as bullets impacted the ground and rocks around him. _Mars protects me,_ he thought as the raider stabbed wildly at him. Achilles seized on the opportunity, turning sideways while he deflected the blow, the man falling forward as Achilles grabbed his wrist and, without hesitation, slammed the butt of his pistol down on the raider's forearm. A scream of agony barely escaped the man's lips as the bone snapped, before Achilles grabbed his head and smashed it on the rocks. The raider fell to the ground, convulsing in his death throes as Achilles kneeled behind the rocks in one smooth motion. He saw hesitation cross the faces of the other raiders. That was all he needed. Training his pistol on the nearest he fired three shots into him, blood spurting as the raider collapsed. Achilles had already fired another two rounds before the man hit the ground, his bullets finding the next raider's chest, one of them severing his aorta. He bled out before either of Achilles' other victims had died. The fourth raider had wisely decided to run and had gotten out of range before he, too, could die. Stepping from behind his cover, Achilles moved forward, pistol at the low ready while he scanned for additional threats. Spotting none, he lowered the weapon to his side and approached the first man he had shot, his blood pooling around him. The raider looked at Achilles as his life poured from him and onto the sand. Achilles stared back without a shred of compassion. The profligate's life had brought him to this fate.

"What are you?" the dying raider rasped.

"I am Caesar's wrath made incarnate, profligate." The barrel of Achilles' pistol was the last thing he saw.

* * *

Emily strode into the cafeteria to find Julie Moore and Dan Parker hunched over a newspaper. She couldn't help but notice the looks of mild horror, mixed with disgust, on both of their faces. She sat across from them with her bowl of cereal, drawing their attention from the paper. Julie wordlessly slid the morning edition of the _Shady Sands Post_ across to her. _Outrage in the Mojave!_ The headline proclaimed. Emily scanned the article. Four NCR troopers going home on leave, found crucified along the rail lines leading to the Mojave. A grisly greeting for NCR troops heading to the front. It was the furthest into NCR territory that there had been a confirmed Legion attack. Besides the human empathy she felt for the four young troopers, Emily felt a pang of concern for Achilles. That would have been the route he would take into the Mojave. She quickly shut the thought down. She was a 38 year old woman. She refused to behave like a smitten teenager over a man she had spent a week with. She looked back up to Dan and Emily.

"Pretty horrific," she said. Dan looked down at the table, nodding his head slightly. Julie looked back at her, a pained expression on her face.

"Yeah. This war is going nowhere fast," she said.

"Well it's not like the NCR can just roll over and give the Mojave to the Legion," Emily replied. She and Julie had profound philosophical differences; they were friends in spite of it, rather than because of it. Their friendship had gotten off to a rough start, when they were much younger women. Julie's pacifism had clashed with Emily's more aggressive personality and Brotherhood training.

"There has to be a better way than this," she said, gesturing down at the headline. Emily smiled at her.

"I'm sure there is. And once we figure out how to change human nature we won't be needed anymore," she replied. Parker interjected before the debate could continue.

"Pardon the interruption, but will you both be here this afternoon?" he asked, looking at them. Julie nodded.

"I am," she said. Parker nodded back at her before turning to Emily.

"I have a class to teach, but other than that I'm free. Why?"

"Julie Farkas is up from the Mojave. We're having a meeting with her at 3:00 PM. I'd like you both to be there. The Mormon fort outpost is on the front lines, as it were. She'll be able to tell us more about what's happening there." Emily smiled. She had always liked Julie Farkas. The woman worked her ass off to help the people who needed it. Daniel stood up from the table. "I have some stuff to do. I'll see you two this afternoon."

"Bye, Dan," Emily said as he left, before turning back to Julie. "This should be interesting," she said. Moore laughed.

"Yeah. You know my cousin is an officer down in the Mojave?" Emily was surprised by that.

"Cassandra? I didn't know she had been sent there."

"Yeah," Julie replied. "Worried about her. The Legion is getting more brazen," she said, glancing down at the smiling pictures of the murdered NCR troopers.

"No point dwelling on what we can't control, Jules. Let's just see what Farkas has to say this afternoon," Emily replied, before turning to her now soggy breakfast. _Ugh. I hate soggy sugar bombs._

* * *

Amata's jaw had been slack from the moment they had boarded Zeta. Oasis had been a shock to her; as it was to most when they first laid eyes on it. The ship in orbit was a magnitude greater than a forest. They stood on the bridge looking down at the ruined Earth. From here John could see how long the journey he was about to embark on actually was. Sadly, there wasn't much he could tell about the terrain from this altitude. He looked up from the view and across to Elliot, the Army medic who had been abducted during the Anchorage reclamation. Elliot was looking at Amata, a bemused expression on his face. He seemed to be enjoying her shock.

"It's something else, huh?" he asked her. John smiled as he looked over at Amata. She seemed to have not heard Elliot.

"Babe," he said, nudging her. She jumped, as if she had been so lost staring at Earth that she had forgotten anyone else was there.

"Yeah?" she whispered, voice quavering slightly.

"Elliot asked you a question," he said gently, nodding towards the soldier. She looked started at that.

"I'm sorry, Elliot. I just…it's…" she trailed off. Elliot laughed lightly.

"I understand. It's pretty incredible, huh?"

"I'm still not sure if I'm dreaming," she replied.

"You're not. Trust me, this place used to be more of a nightmare," John replied. She looked at him. "Long story," he continued before she could ask what he meant.

"You say that a lot," she complained in a fake whine. She had at least recovered her sense of humor quickly.

"What can I say," he replied, shrugging. "I've done a lot." Elliot laughed as John spoke.

"And we still appreciate it," the medic chimed in.

"How much, Elliot?"

"What?"

"How much do you appreciate it?" John asked.

"A lot. I told you we all owe you for it," the medic replied.

"I'm calling in that debt, Elliot." A look of confusion crossed the man's face.

"What do you…?"

"The Vault I grew up in needs better medical help. They had a decent enough medic, but no one with your training." Amata and Elliot both were taken aback before they spoke at the same time.

"This is who-"

"…me to go back to Earth?" John held up his hands to quiet them.

"One at a time. Elliot?"

"You. Want. Me. To go. Back. To Earth?" the man asked in slow, measured tones.

"You'd be living in a Vault that's secure and separated from the Wasteland. You'll be safe and have a job and a place to live."

"John, I-"

"Elliot. I was being polite. They need a doctor. You have advanced medical training. Didn't you take an oath to help people?"

"Technically I only took an oath to obey the President and my officers…"

"Look, asshole, you're going to Vault 101," John replied, frustration seeping into his voice. Elliot held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

"Ok, ok, I'll go get my stuff," he muttered before stalking off the bridge, leaving John and Amata alone.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Elliot can be a whiny bitch, but he's a very competent medic. You said your Vault doc wasn't that great."

"Jane's ok for first aid, I guess," Amata replied.

"And what about the first time someone gets seriously ill? Or there's a pregnancy?"

"Point taken," she said. Elliot came back on to the bridge, a bag in tow and a sour look on his face.

"Look, Elliot, when I get back you can leave the Vault if you want," he said. Elliot just frowned.

"Why don't we just go, John? The day-night terminus is getting close to D.C.," the medic responded. John just nodded and, leading Amata by the hand, made his way to the teleporter back to the Capital Wasteland. He couldn't help but think that he only had one day left in the only place he'd ever really known.


	10. A Single Step

John sat at his desk, watching Amata sleep peacefully. She had only gone to sleep a few hours before, and he had been especially careful to not wake her as he had dressed and consolidated all his gear. He had two bags; one containing combat armor, spare clothes, his plasma rifle, and ammo, the second filled with bottles of water and a lockbox containing a large supply of Med-X and 8,000 caps. Fawkes had explained to him the 2,000 cap credit check required entering the Vegas strip, and John had every intention of exploring there. He had opted not to sleep the night before and was already regretting it. The walk north would be long enough, and that would only be the start of the day. John looked down to the envelope he held in his hand. A letter to Amata, explaining he had left. It was a chickenshit move, and he knew it. But on some level he was afraid that if he woke her to say goodbye he wouldn't be able to bring himself to leave. She still had a hold on him, even after all the time that had passed. He set the envelope on the desk before picking up the necklace McPherson had ripped off in their fight and putting it around his neck. Butch, in a rare moment of charity, had recovered it after the fight and had it repaired before returning it at John's send off at Moriarty's, the night before. Most of his closest friends in town-Nova, Gob, even Moira had made an appearance, and he was happy to say goodbye to them all in person. Lucy had been notably absent, which had caused him a pang of guilt. He and Amata had spent most all of the three days they had out of Megaton, with John hoping that would lessen some of Lucy's anger at how quickly he and Amata had reconciled. And then, after the party, he and Amata had their own farewell; attempting to say with their bodies what they couldn't manage to put into words. That felt like it had taken most of the night. After that, all John had to do was wait. He had sat in the darkness, reflecting on the journey that lay ahead of him; clarifying, in his mind, what his goals were: Watch. Learn. Observe. But don't get involved. Standing, John looked at Amata one last time in the dim light. _Forgive me, Amata. I love you._ With one last look at her, he slung an old Chinese made assault rifle over his shoulder, fixed his pistol to his hip, and silently made his way down the stairs, the small bag of supplies carried in his hand.

"Wadsworth, wake up and be quiet," he whispered at the robot.

"Yes, master?" the butler replied in a hushed tone.

"I'm leaving now. I don't know for how long. Maintain the house. Obey Sheriff Simms."

"Understood, sir."

"Goodbye, Wadsworth," he replied, unslinging the rifle momentarily so he could heft the larger pack on his back. Adjusting it for comfort, he reshouldered the rifle before looking at Dogmeat, curled up on the floor.

"Dogmeat, come!" he whispered. The dog sprang to his feet and padded over as John walked to the door. He took one last look around his home before leaving, walking toward the town gate. Fawkes and Simms were waiting for him there. He hefted the bag full of water and caps to Fawkes, who silently threw it over his shoulder. John turned to face Simms. The man had been the first person John had met out of the Vault, and Simms had grown to be a person he liked and respected immensely. He didn't know how to begin saying goodbye. Lucas, as if reading his mind, wordlessly extended his hand. John took it, feeling the strength of the man's grip.

"It's been a pleasure, John. You stay safe out there. I expect to see you again." John smiled faintly before releasing his grip on Simms's hand.

"Look out for Amata. She won't be happy when she wakes up. Make sure she gets back to 101 ok. And make sure the man in the common room, Elliot, goes with her. Threaten him if you have to." Lucas chuckled at that.

"I'll do that, kid. And Mr. DeLoria will be staying in your house?"

"He will. Don't worry too much about him. He tries to be a hardass, but he's a decent guy. And he can give a mean haircut. You still up to take care of Dogmeat?"

"Of course. Harden will love having him around." John nodded before dropping into a crouch to face Dogmeat.

"I want you to stay with Lucas, boy. He'll take care of you for now." The dog cocked his head, fixing his eyes on John before whining. "Come on, boy. Don't do that. I'll be back." _Christ, I'm having a hard time saying goodbye to a dog._ He stood back up and turned to Fawkes.

"Let's go," he said. The mutant nodded and took the lead, walking toward the gate as it opened. John gave one last look at town before following Fawkes north, the first light of dawn just beginning to lighten the horizon. John glanced quickly at his Pip-Boy. 5:30 AM, Sunday, July 17, 2281. Three years and 11 months after he had left the Vault and been thrust into the Wasteland he was beginning a new journey, one with a much clearer goal than simply running across the Wastes trying to find his father. Then he had been a scared boy, desperately trying to cling to some part of an old life. This time he was the master of his own destiny.

* * *

The sun was still low in the sky when they reached Joanne's caravan headquarters. John checked the time on his Pip-Boy. 7:45. The walk had taken just over two hours to. The caravan itself was being loaded by a pair of men John didn't know. He took a moment to observe the caravan itself. It was unlike anything he had seen before; considerably different than what the short distance traders used. This caravan consisted of a team of four Brahmin, pulling what looked almost like an old covered wagon, John thought. It didn't have a cover of any sort, but was a deep, long wooden rectangle with four large wooden wheels. There were an assortment of goods loaded on already as John and Fawkes approached. The two men turned to face them as they neared.

"Heard you two were joining us," the first man said, wiping his hands on his pants. "Name's Bonzo, and this here is Smith." The second man, Smith, nodded at them as he was introduced.

"Pleased to meet you," John replied. "I'm John…"

"We know who you are. Heard enough stories about you from traveling through this area. And your friend is Fawkes, right? Joanne says you're one of the best guards out there."

"Let us hope I can fulfill that praise," Fawkes replied. Joanne strode out as the group finished loading the last of the goods into the wagon. She looked pleased to see them.

"Fawkes! John! Glad you two are here. John, have Bonzo and Smith explained this caravan's route to you?"

"No," John replied. "We were just finishing loading up."

"Well, let me explain and then you'll be free to leave. This caravan will head north along old I-95 until you reach I-70. From there it heads west, through the Appalachians and the Interior Desert until Kansas City. You'll trade and resupply there, and then continue to New Vegas. After Kansas City the route becomes more dangerous, especially along I-70, so your path after K.C. is up to Bonzo. He's the lead trader on this route. You, John, and you as well, Fawkes, are contracted as guards. You receive a flat fee for safe arrival in Kansas City, as well as a percentage of the profits from delivery. The same goes for arrival in New Vegas. From there you're free to do what you like. You can wait for another caravan originating from D.C., or join a caravan from Crimson Caravans. They go as far as KC, usually; but the situation in the west has disrupted them. Have you been filled in on the war in the Mojave?" John had to take a moment to absorb the information. Joanne had been extremely thorough and spoke quickly.

"I have a general idea," John replied to her question.

"Good. I know all your companions have been west before. Listen to them. You may be good here in D.C., but the rest of the country is a different story. Don't underestimate it." John nodded at her.

"I won't." A smile flashed across her face before she extended her hand.

"Good luck, John. I hope you find what you're looking for out there," she said, before turning to Bonzo. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. He may not look like much, but we're kind of attached to him here," she continued, winking at John as she did. Bonzo chuckled, while Smith remained stone-faced.

"We'll try. No promises, though," he replied. Joanne nodded at him.

"Ok. Well, you're free to go. Safe travels, guys. Try not to get stabbed in a bar in Coalseam." With that, she turned and walked back into her office. Bonzo looked down to John.

"You ever been on a wagon before?" he asked.

"No," John replied. He felt oddly out of place. He had become accustomed to being the best where he was. Now he was the new guy that had to be watched over again.

"Well, hop on," he said, gesturing at the space on the wagon next to him. "You can ride shotgun until our first break." John accepted Bonzo's hand and pulled himself up onto the bench. Turning back to the Brahmin, Bonzo cracked the reins and the wagon slowly lurched forward, before the animals got into their rhythm. The wagon rolled up the shattered remnants of I-95, heading north. Bonzo began speaking as they traveled.

"You ever left D.C., kid?"

"I've been to the Pitt and Point Lookout, but that's it." Bonzo's face twisted at the mention of the Pitt.

"God, why did you go to the Pitt? We avoid that place like a Deathclaw nest," he replied.

"Got duped into it," John explained, a hint of bitterness in his voice. He was still pissed about the fiasco that had been the Pitt.

"Yeah, I can't imagine anyone willingly going to that shithole. Either way, if that's all the traveling you've done, this is going to blow your mind. New Vegas…man, you just have to see it for yourself to believe it. Hell, even West Virginia is an improvement from here."

"Hey, lay off. D.C. is the only home I've got."

"You might not want to come back after you see the rest of the country," Bonzo replied. John looked at him, studying the face of the man he'd be traveling with for the foreseeable future.

"Up until about four days ago you'd probably have been right. But tell me about it. What makes West Virginia so special?"

"It's still alive, for starters. Barely any fallout came down there, and no bombs. They still have forests, and people; living like they always did, maybe with a bit less technology than before. What's the biggest city in the Capital, Rivet City?"

"Yeah, pretty easily," John replied.

"The town we stop in out there, Coalseam, could fit all of Rivet City's population and no one would know." John was taken aback by that.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Bonzo replied, leaning back in his seat and shifting to get comfortable. "It's where this wagon was made, matter of fact. They still have enough wood out there to make things with." John thought about that. If there was one thing the Capital Wasteland lacked, it was resources. He made a mental note to pay extra attention while in Coalseam.

"And what about the Interior Desert Joanne mentioned?" Bonzo grimaced at the mention of it.

"Ugh. Don't get me started. The Midwest got hit hard in the war. Nebraska, Missouri, Kansas, a lot of Iowa…bombs and fallout totally destroyed the area. Pretty barren there now. Not much left but sand dunes and empty roads. That'll probably be the worst part of the trip." That put an end to the conversation as they rolled up a hill. John realized, abruptly, that he had never been passed here. This was, effectively, the northern boundary of the Capital Wasteland. He spun in his seat to look back at the D.C. skyline. The Washington Monument and the crumbling dome of the Capitol could just be made out in the distance. The only home he had ever known. And just as quickly it disappeared from sight, as the wagon made its way back down the opposite side of the hill.

* * *

As soon as she woke Amata knew something was wrong. Light was streaming into the room and she was alone in bed. She bolted up, a sickening feeling overwhelming her stomach as she scanned the room. It was empty. _He left. He left without even saying goodbye. _Her eyes began to blur with tears before noticing a white envelope on the desk. She climbed out of bed and walked to it, wiping her eyes and attempting to regain her composure. She picked the envelope up, eyes falling on the writing on it. John's handwriting. It said, simply, "Amata". Her eyes began tearing again as she opened it, her efforts at self-control proving futile. She unfolded the letter and began reading.

_Dear Amata,_

_I'm sorry I'm saying goodbye like this, but I don't know if I could handle saying goodbye to you for a third time. The first two times were two of the most painful experiences I've been through. _

_Your pain! What about the people around you?_ She silently screamed at him. The tears were flowing freely as she kept reading.

_I promise, I will come back to you if you'll still have me, and you won't be able to get rid of me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Yours always,_

_JJ._

She folded the letter back up and set it down before allowing herself a momentary breakdown. She quickly regained her composure, drying her eyes and blowing her runny nose. Inside the privacy of the house she could be a borderline heartbroken, 22 year old. Outside she had to be the Overseer. She refused to let her people see her being emotional. Amata pull her Vault jumpsuit out of her small bag and pulled it on, before placing the folded up letter in her pocket. Hoisting the bag onto her back, she made her way out of the house, finding a small group waiting near the gate. She spotted Sheriff Simms and Butch, having what appeared to be a stern talk with Elliot, now wearing civilian clothing instead of his combat armor. They turned their attention to Amata as she approached.

"Good morning Overseer," the Sheriff said in a respectful tone. She smiled at him, doing her best to make the pain she was in.

"Good morning, Sheriff. I think it's time I head back to the Vault. You ready to go, Elliot?" The medic nodded glumly, Amata not being able to ignore the hard looks being given by Lucas and Butch.

"I'm ready," he replied, looking down at the ground. Butch spoke up as the medic put the small bag of supplies Doc Church donated over his shoulder.

"I'm going to walk you guys back," he said, looking Amata in the eye. His and Simms's eyes told what they wouldn't say out loud: they didn't trust Elliot to not try and run off on the way to the Vault. There was no other explanation; it wasn't a long walk to the Vault and the path wasn't any more hazardous than anywhere else in the Wasteland these days. She nodded back at Butch, as if acknowledging the unspoken meaning behind his offer, before speaking.

"Well, Elliot, let's head to your new home," she said, before turning to Lucas and extending her hand. "Thanks for the hospitality you showed my people, Sheriff."

"Anytime, young lady. You ever need anything, you let me know." She smiled, grateful for the offer, before starting the short trek back to 101.

* * *

**Hello everyone. So, 10 chapters in. We're finally getting to the main part of the story. Hope that my attempt at building the characters a bit has been successful; in the long run I see this story as being the first in a multi-part series so I wanted to give some background and depth to them. To explain the description I gave in here of the world between D.C. and New Vegas, I looked at the map FEMA produced showing the expected fallout patterns if the Soviets had launched their ICBMs at the US. The Midwest would have been absolutely hammered, as would a lot of the mountain west. The Appalachians definitely would have gotten some; but in this case I'll be explaining later in the story why West Virginia isn't a ruin, it'll actually be a major plot point. Anyway, hope you've enjoyed, and comments or thoughts, feel free to share them!**

**SF**


	11. The Fields of Athenry

John looked up from his journal, lost in thought. It was their fourth morning on the road. They had spent the night in the remains of Hagerstown, MD. Idly rubbing his knee, he reflected on the new environment he found himself in as his companions began preparing for the day. There had been a noticeable change as they had rolled out of the desolation of the Capital Wasteland and up the old highways, picking up a shortcut that Bonzo knew that saved a considerable amount of time. The further west they moved, the more alive things looked. The land had gone from a uniform shade of brown to a more diverse mix of brown and green. According to Bonzo the Appalachians were more alive still. John looked forward to it, as even the patches of grass along their route were a pleasant change from the normally barren landscape. Realizing it was time to go, John looked down, signing his name to the page he had written on. The journal was a record of what he had been doing, a travelogue that he meant to have delivered to Amata if the opportunity arose. Bonzo, not for the first time, took note of his writing.

"Still writing that saga for your Vault broad?" he asked. The two of them had gotten very well acquainted over the course of the three days they had been traveling. Theirs was the only conversation to be had. John still hadn't heard Smith say a word, and Fawkes knew John well enough that small talk and life stories didn't pass between them anymore. Most of John's most interesting stories involved Fawkes, anyway.

"Yeah. Still writing to Amata," John replied as he strode over to the wagon. Bonzo rolled his eyes as he lit up his first smoke of the day.

"Kid, let me tell you something. You're 23. Don't go tying yourself down. If I've said it to you once, I've said it 100 times by now-your relationship with that girl is all kinds of fucked up. I don't care how good the tail is, there's always something better."

"Better than love?" John asked, going for the sappiest response he could think of. Bonzo's reaction didn't disappoint, a look of borderline disgust crossing his face.

"Fuck me, kid. That was one of the fruitiest things I've ever heard. Trust me, if you stick to this decision you'll regret it when we hit Vegas. Hell, you'll regret it in Coalseam." John let out a short bark of laughter as Bonzo got the cart rolling. More often than not, John rode shotgun. He and Smith rotated, but it had become clear by the end of the first day that John's knee still couldn't take the workload. Even the walking he did do left him aching every morning. He hadn't covered this much ground by foot for years. Luckily Smith didn't seem to mind too much, and Fawkes was essentially inexhaustible.

"I'm not just in it for the sex, Bonzo. Besides, Amata's pretty damn hot," he said in response to the trader's mocking.

"Sure you're not, Johno. How long was it in between you knocking the bottom out of that blonde babe and Amata?" John couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. Bonzo had hit closer to home than he'd like to admit.

"About four days," he mumbled back. That drew a round of laughter from Bonzo. Even Smith's normally inscrutable face showed a hint of amusement at that.

"I'm not judging you, kid. Far from it. More power to you. Shit, if you're not going to take advantage in Coalseam, send them my way. But don't go lying to yourself and this Amata girl about what you are. Only going to make it worse in the long run."

"Thanks, Uncle Bonzo," John replied, chuckling. He supposed he should respect the old trader's experience, but it was hard to get around the cynicism he spoke with. _Besides,_ John thought, _Amata's different. We're different._ They rolled their way along the road in temporary silence, the rising sun quickly warming the air. The further west they traveled, John noticed, the more the air felt different. Almost…wet. He knew what it was, he had learned about it in school. This was humidity. He had never properly experienced it until now. The novelty was almost enough to make him ignore how uncomfortable it felt. While the temperature was noticeably cooler than the Capital Wasteland, the moisture in the air was making it impossible to feel comfortable. He felt like he was just sitting in his own sweat, the air not dry enough for it to evaporate. Off in the distance, still miles away, the rolling foothills of the Appalachians loomed. They appeared to rise from the ground, gently sloping up and off into the distance. The mountains themselves weren't a particular shock-the seismic force of the bombs had created ranges around D.C.-but the greenness of them was. Even from this distance, the sharp change in color was obvious from the land that led into the mountains.

"You ok, kid?" Bonzo asked, noticing the distant look on John's face.

"Yeah," he replied, snapping back to reality. "Just never seen that much green before." Bonzo snickered at that.

"Wait till we're in them. You'll see all the green you ever wanted," he replied.

"Are we stopping up there tonight?" John asked.

"Yep. Stop by Old Hancock. It's a little trading post along the way. Why, you already tired of traveling?'

"Not at all," he replied. "Just curious. Then what, another six or so to Coalseam?"

"Give or take," Bonzo replied. "Spend a day trading there and then head out towards K.C." John grunted in acknowledgement, thoughts drifting back away as they rolled towards the mountains.

* * *

It was shaping up to be another normal day in Megaton. Aside from a water caravan due to make its rounds, everything was quiet. Lucas sat at the Brass Lantern, eating his breakfast quietly, Dogmeat sitting by his side. The dog had taken to making the rounds with Lucas. The sheriff didn't object to the presence of the intimidating looking animal. Any would-be troublemaker would be given pause when confronted with Lucas' size and Dogmeat's fangs. Jenny Stahl stood behind the counter, making idle conversation. Lucas didn't engage in gossip; he felt his position in town should keep him above talking about citizens behind their backs. He'd had to stop Jenny from talking all about how Lucy was doing following John's reconciliation with the Overseer and his departure from town. While he was as concerned about Lucy as anyone, he figured if she wanted to talk, she'd come directly to him. Finishing his food, he bid Jenny farewell and set off toward the gate. The water caravan was due soon; they usually made their rounds early in the day. As he made his way up the hill, Stockholm, the town's lone sentry, called out.

"Hey, Sheriff, you may want to get outside. There caravan is here, but there's a way bigger guard on it." That got Lucas' attention. He immediately began connecting various dots in his head. The answer that immediately came to mind was John's fight in Rivet City. Lucas felt a flash of anger as the thought went through his mind. He had been right, after all. The kid's grudge was bringing trouble down on them all. As he stepped through the gate, he was met by the sight of the water caravan, with six Brotherhood members guarding it. He knew immediately who they were. If their unique sigil on their armor wasn't enough, the blonde woman at the head of the group confirmed it. _They're here for the kid. Play it cool._

"Mornin'," Lucas began. "Bit more of y'all than I'm used to seeing. What's your business in Megaton?"

"We're here to take John Thompson into custody for his assault on a Brother of Steel," the woman replied. _Sarah,_ Lucas realized. _That's her name. The one Three-Dog talks about._

"And what gives you the authority to come into my town and arrest one of my citizens?" She looked taken aback by that. He assumed that hadn't been expecting resistance.

"We are here under the authority of Elder Owyn Lyons. As long as you receive purified water from us, you will accept his judgment," she replied. The sheer arrogance conveyed by her proclamation angered him.

"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he left. Six days ago." The surprise was visible on all their faces now.

"Left for where?" she pressed. He shrugged at her.

"Couldn't tell you. West somewhere, he said."

"They you won't mind if we search his house to be sure?" she asked.

"Miss, my word's been good around these parts long before the Brotherhood came to town. Frankly, you can fuck right off if you want to question my honestly like that." Her eyes went wide at his declaration.

"You are making a grievous mistake, Sheriff. The Elder will be very disappointed by your lack of cooperation." Lucas nodded at her.

"Fair enough. How about we get this water delivery done so you can go on your way?" Sarah looked like she could scream. This had obviously not gone at all as she had planned.

"Fine," she huffed, turning and stalking away with her squad in tow to wait for the caravan on the road. Lucas turned to the caravaneer.

"Let's get this done fast," he began. "I don't want that young lady near my town longer than she has to be," he finished as he began helping unload the water.

* * *

The Lyons' Pride strode into the Citadel courtyard in the late afternoon, the water caravan successfully protected. Not that it had ever been a concern. Gunny was smoking a class of fresh initiates, noticing Sarah and the Pride as they entered the courtyard. Leaving the recruits with the instruction "keep pushing," he made his way toward Sarah, eagerly trying to spot the Wanderer in chains. Technically, it may supposed to have been a secret, but word had spread quickly around the Citadel that they were out to bring the legend in. He knew the older members all wanted to see him brought in; not just because of his beating of McPherson but because of his general attitude during and immediately after the war. He was surprised to see that it was just the Pride, with no sign of the Wanderer. The angry look on Sarah's face gave away that something had gone wrong. She was still his superior, though, so as he drew near he saluted before relaying the message he had been given.

"Your presence is requested in the Great Hall, Sentinel." She nodded at him.

"Very well," she replied, turning to the members of the Pride she had taken with her. "Pride, you're dismissed. I'll meet you in the Den." She turned and stalked into the Citadel proper, winding her way towards the Great Hall. Anger was still pounding through her. The day had not gone at all as she had expected. It wasn't just the resistance, the borderline insolence, of Megaton's sheriff, the wannabe cowboy. It was what he had said, that John had left nearly a week before. She didn't know what to make of that. The John Thompson she had known would have been too proud to hide behind anyone or anything. At the same time, she obviously hadn't known him as well as she thought. She had actually believed he was committed to the Brotherhood…and her. She quickly forced the thought from her mind as she entered the Great Hall, surprised to see Gallows waiting with her father and Rothchild. They turned to her as she entered.

"You missed him," her father said. It was a statement, not a question. She nodded in confirmation. "Gallows arrived after you left. He saw the Wanderer leaving six days ago, heading north with a long haul caravan. By now he'll be far out of our range."

"If we use a Vertibird we may be able to…"

"To what? Find him? Even if we had the resources, which we don't, we have no idea what route he's traveling."

"Lucas Simms said he was heading west," she replied. Her father's and Rothchild's eyes both widened slightly at that, before turning to face each other.

"West…is he going to the NCR?" the Elder asked.

"Perhaps…but how would he even know of the NCR? We never spoke of it to him," Rothchild replied.

"He was with the mutant. Might have heard from him," Gallows interjected.

"Shit," Rothchild said, drawing a disapproving look from the Elder.

"What? Why is him going to California bad? At least it gets him out of the picture here," Sarah said. Her father sighed as Rothchild spoke up.

"He's barely left Megaton for over two years and suddenly he decides to go to California? Doesn't make sense. The last thing we need is him going to the NCR and coming back with some foolish notion of creating a country here."

"Why is that bad? Even if he did, he's just one man," she shot back.

"Yes, one man. And have you forgotten what kind of man he is? I know as the years have passed it's been easy to forget, especially with his personality in the way. But there was fact behind the Lone Wanderer legend. I know you were fighting, Sarah, but Three-Dog wasn't exaggerating when he told those stories. He destroyed Raven Rock and the Crawler single-handedly," Rothchild replied. Sarah felt more annoyed by what the Scribe had said. It sounded like glowing praise, and he was supposed to be on her side. The Elder interrupted their argument before it could go further.

"Yes, all valid points; but please, let's stick to the matter at hand. Should we give Three-Dog any instructions?" Rothchild's face twisted into one of momentary thought before replying.

"No, no point," he began. "Three-Dog has sources all over. I'm sure he'll be reporting in another day or two on it anyway." The Elder nodded.

"Very well. Sarah, Gallows, you're dismissed. Go ahead and get food for yourselves. Rothchild and I have other matters to attend to." Sarah nodded before leaving, Gallows silently trailing her to the chow hall.

* * *

Susie wound her way with Christine through the Vault to the cafeteria. They both felt equally miserable-one of the beauties of living in the Vault was the women's cycles syncing up. They entered the cafeteria to find Amata, looking thoroughly exhausted, sitting with Elliot, the new doctor she had come back with. She wouldn't say where she had found him; just that he was a friend of JJ's. Susie knew that Amata was taking him leaving way harder than she let on; but she was still taken aback as she and Christine sat themselves at the table with Amata and Elliot. The doctor nodded in greeting at them, but Susie's eyes were on the huge tray of food in front of Amata. She had never seen Amata react like this to her period, and they had known each other all their lives. Looking at the Overseer's face, it was impossible not to notice how tired she looked. Tired, and with the redness of her eyes, slightly like she had been crying. The radio on the table softly played as Amata looked up from her food, which she was devouring. She at least waited to swallow before speaking.

"Hey, Susie. How's it going?" She didn't wait for a response before shoveling another mouthful of what looked to be eggs into her mouth. _This is too weird._ Amata had been borderline obsessed with her diet and exercise since they were teenagers. _Must be the stress of the job and being depressed about JJ._

"I'm fine. Just tired. Cramped," she continued, forgetting Elliot was there. "Sorry, Doc," she said in a faux-sweet voice. He snickered at her; with the song ending in the background. The DJ, Three-Dog, came back on, more cheerful than anyone had a right to be this early.

_Good morning Capital Wasteland! How's everyone doin'? Seems like we got a bit of news…_Amata's eyes narrowed at the radio. She was practically waiting for him to say something about JJ, Susie thought.

_It seems that the crazy kid from 101, our wayward Lone Wanderer, has left the Capital Wasteland for parts unknown; his Frankenstein in tow…_

"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!" Amata shrieked, slamming her hand down on the radio. Susie, Elliot, and Christine sat shocked. Never had Amata lost her temper in front of others, not like that. Thankfully the cafeteria was empty aside from them. Noticing the looks on their faces, Amata ranted on. "I'm tired of that fucking idiot talk about what he doesn't know! All he does is talk about how great the Brotherhood is and I'm sick of it!"

"Ok, Amata," Christine replied in a soothing voice. Amata turned back to her food with a scowl on her face, Susie and Christine sharing a glance as she did. Elliot spoke up on behalf of all of them.

"Amata, why don't you come by the clinic and talk to me at some point?"

"Can't. Too busy," she snapped.

"I've been reading that handbook you gave me. Technically I can order you to come…"

"Fine," she again snapped, looking up. Her lip was trembling. Noticing them staring at her, she went on. "What? Why do you keep staring at me?!" The words poured out, her voice cracking as she spoke. Her food finished, she pushed away from the table, looking like she was on the verge of tears. "Excuse me," she said as she hurried from the room, leaving the three of them in stunned silence.

"What the fuck was that? I've never seen Amata get this emotional from her period," Christine said.

"That didn't seem like a reaction to her cycle…" Elliot trailed off. Susie could see him turning something over in his head. His eyes widened as she simultaneously came to the same conclusion after doing the math. _Oh shit. There's no way to be sure yet but…fuck me, that's not good. _The look in Elliot's eyes told her that not only had he reached the same conclusion, but that they should say nothing.

* * *

John looked at his freshly shaven face in the mirror. Ten days on the road had given him a thicker beard than he'd ever had, and it had not been comfortable. Still, he hadn't been as clean shaven as he now was since his father had died, if his memory served. Towel tied around his waist, he walked back out to his hotel room. They had arrived in Coalseam earlier in the day; and John had immediately realized Bonzo hadn't been lying in his descriptions of the place. It was bigger, better developed, and more populated than anywhere John had been. The highway to town led through heavily forested, rolling mountains. The closer they had gotten to the city, John noticed, the more the quality of the roads improved. No huge cracks and holes, no grass growing through. And the amount of traffic had increased, groups of people either coming from or heading to Coalseam. Bonzo had explained that many of the groups were hunters, heading out to bring in fresh meat. John had commented that they didn't seem heavily armed enough, drawing a round of laughter from Bonzo. He wouldn't explain to John what was funny, just telling him to wait and see. His first sight of town had been the most shocking-a valley filled with buildings, intact buildings, all protected by a high fence that was humming with electricity. "Keeps the animals out," Bonzo had said as they rolled through the gate and into town. After stopping at the market and trading, they had put the caravan in a guarded lot and, leaving the Brahmin to feed, had made their way to Bonzo's preferred hotel. It was a five story affair, built before the war but well maintained. It had electricity and running water, hot and cold, on demand, which was more than could be said for most everywhere John had been. All in all, he had not been disappointed in Coalseam. Their vast wealth of natural resources was obvious, but he wanted to find out how their infrastructure was maintained. Apparently there would be a chance tonight. John dressed in clean clothes and left; heading to the restaurant on the first floor to meet his companions. Apparently there was usually some sort of social event on Wednesday nights here, a way for people to celebrate that they were halfway to the weekend. Reaching the first floor, the woman at the front desk pointed him in the direction of the restaurant. Nodding his thanks, he made his way to it, following the signs posted in the hallway. Opening the door, he was met by the sight of the largest room he'd ever been in. On the far side of the room a stage was set up, an array on instruments upon it. Scanning the rapidly filling room, he spotted Bonzo and Smith seated at a table and strode over to meet them. He noticed they had dressed much more nicely than on the road, wearing clothing similar to the locals. Everyone seemed to wear similar styles; men in shirts and slacks and women in dresses, all in varying shades of white, black, gray, and a dull blue shade. While the town was certainly better off than any other place he'd been, there was a distinct drabness to it. Pulling up a seat, he looked at his companions.

"Where's Fawkes?"

"Back in his room," Bonzo replied. "People here aren't used to mutants and he didn't want to spend the night being stared at." John frowned at that.

"The only way to get people used to something is making them see it," he replied. Bonzo smiled at that.

"Not here, kid. I told you, this place isn't like everywhere else. The war didn't hit it, and outside of trading they try to keep the world the war created, the one we live in, out. These people are still living the way they did in the 21st century." John laughed as a waiter appeared, filling their glasses with water and…ice?! _They have ice?! _Even Smith chuckled seeing the look on John's face. "Easy there. Try not to make it too obvious you're not from around here," Bonzo said. Trying to take his mind off the ice, he picked up the menu. That proved to be a mistake.

"Steak? Chicken?" he asked, laughing at the joke menu. Looking up, he saw no amusement on the other men's faces, which were staring at their menus. "Shit, is this for real?"

"Yup," Bonzo replied as the waiter returned for their orders. "Venison chili," he said. The waiter wrote it down before looking to Smith.

"Steak and fries," he said in a deep, oddly accented voice. John realized it was the first time he'd heard the man speak. The waiter turned to face him.

"Uh…" he began, totally lost. He had no idea what any of this stuff was.

"Get him the chicken and mashed potatoes," Bonzo interjected. "He's a first timer," he continued, winking at the waiter, who smiled as he left to put the order in. The men sat silently, sipping their water as the first band played. It was a pair of women, accompanied by a man on guitar. They were singing what sounded to be an old spiritual song. John realized, abruptly, that this was one of the few places outside of the Vault that he'd seen other people who identified as Christians. He thought back to his history lessons in the Vault. He knew this region, and most of the Appalachians, had been settled by poor immigrants from Scotland and Ireland in the 1800s. His father had told him that his own family had come to the US from Ireland in the 21st century. Ancestry had been important in the Vault, as it had apparently been in Pre-War America. They sat, listening to the women singing, John lost in thought. The food arrived toward the end of their set, the crowd applauding as they stepped from the stage. John was too distracted by the food to pay attention to the next band climbing onto the stage. He had never seen anything like a chicken, except in pictures. Picking up a leg, he took a tentative bite. From under the crisp skin grease ran over his lips. It was the best thing John had ever tasted. He devoured the leg; his mind only coming back after it was gone. He noticed the song the band, a group of young men, had begun playing. He knew it, but hadn't heard it since the Vault. It was one of his favorite songs. He joined the crowd in singing the chorus.

_Low lie, the fields of Athenry; where once we watched the small free birds fly. Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing; it's so lonely 'round the fields of Athenry._

Smith and Bonzo stared at him as he sang. Finishing the chorus, he looked at them.

"How do you know this song, kid?" Bonzo asked.

"Heard it back in the Vault. Old Irish song. My dad told me his family came here from Ireland."

"What the fuck's an Ireland?" John sighed. _That's right. No education._

"It's a place. Across the ocean." Smith grunted as Bonzo raised an eyebrow.

"If you say so, kid. Eat your potatoes while they're hot, the gravy here is good," he replied, turning to his food. John was too entranced to be irritated. That song made him think of Amata every time. Especially in the time after he had left the Vault, after making her Overseer. Sometimes he had felt like the man in the song, sent far away from the people he loved. He looked around the room, seeing families eating, young couples on dates, people happy and not worried about dying of dehydration or starvation. He realized that this was his goal for D.C. A stable place where people could do more than survive, but live. Getting there was what he still had to figure out.

* * *

**Hi everyone. So, this took for-freaking-ever to do. Got really busy with school and then was too run down to write very much else. Anywho, so I know that they never talk at all about what the character's ancestry would be in-game; so I made his father's family of Irish descent as an homage to Liam Neeson, seeing as he was the voice actor for James. The rest of the stuff about Coalseam is basically based off of what the history of Appalachia and the culture there is. Anyway, hope you enjoy!**


	12. Storm Clouds

Amata sat on the examining table in the Vault clinic, idly swinging her feet off the edge. In a chair off to the side, Susie sat fiddling with her Pip-Boy. Elliot and Jane had left to run a test on the blood sample they had collected from Amata. She knew what they were doing, and she knew what the results of the test would be. She had known for a week, since she'd first felt the changes in her body. Still, she had stalled for an extra four days before Elliot finally escorted her to the clinic himself. He was adjusting well to life in the Vault, seemingly relieved at the security of the place and enjoying being surrounded by people his own age. And as a doctor he had been nothing short of a godsend, taking the role of Vault physician and beginning to teach Jane more advanced medical procedures. Jane, for her part, seemed relieved by the change and spent most of her time with Elliot, trying to learn from him. The medic walking back into the room drew both Amata's and Susie's attention. He stood across from her, Jane right behind him, loosely holding a clipboard with several sheets of paper on it. The look on his face told Amata all she needed to know. She had been trying to deny it to herself, telling herself she was imagining things.

"You know what I'm about to tell you?" he asked, an empathetic expression on his face. She nodded and looked at him as tears began to form in her eyes.

"Just say it," she choked out, feebly attempting to maintain her composure. He nodded, glancing at the papers as if he needed reminding before speaking.

"You're pregnant," he said simply. Amata nodded before looking at the ground, tears rolling down her face as her body shook slightly with the sobs. Susie silently walked over and lightly hugged her. Amata quickly regained her composure, looking up at Elliot.

"Due date should be…sometime in April, then?" she asked, as if she needed to be told. She had worked out the math when she had first suspected it.

"Well, according to the information you gave me and the blood work, it's been about four and a half weeks since your last menstrual cycle and approximately two weeks since conception. Due date is projected to be April 15," he replied. "I'm sorry to do this, but these questions are standard procedure: do you know who the father is?" Amata scoffed at that.

"Of course. It's JJ," she replied. It could hardly be anyone else.

"What's John's last name?" Elliot asked. That question surprised Amata.

"Thompson," she quickly replied. Elliot wrote the information on the clipboard.

"And do either of you have hereditary illnesses or genetic defects?"

"I don't. I don't know if JJ has any," she replied Elliot nodded and jotted more on the clipboard. Finally, he looked back at her.

"Alright. It's up to you how to proceed, Amata. I would encourage you to wait until the end of the first trimester to tell anyone. The risk of miscarriage begins to decrease after that. You told me you already have an exercise routine and follow a fairly careful diet, correct?" She nodded at him. "I would recommend you continue exercising, under some supervision and taking into account the stage of pregnancy. Don't overdo it, but staying active will make everything easier. And understand that you'll need to eat quite a bit more now. Does everything I said make sense?"

"Yes," she replied. He smiled wanly at her.

"Good," he said. "I want you to come follow up in two weeks with me," he continued, writing a date on a reminder card before handing it to her. She tried to smile back, through all the emotions. She didn't know how she was supposed to do this. From a place far back in her memory, she heard JJ singing that traditional song he liked. _Now you must raise our child with dignity…_she immediately crushed the thought. He would come back. This may not have been how she planned things, and she was still upset over how he left, but she had to believe he would come back to her. _To more than just me now,_ she thought, looking down to where her child was growing inside her. _Two months. Two months before it becomes obvious._ She stood and, closely followed by Susie, made her way to her office. They each sat down, finally able to talk in the privacy of the room. Amata looked up at Susie, staring at her before finally breaking the silence.

"Well, that wasn't part of the plan," she said, a feeble smile cracking through as she spoke. Susie chuckled softly.

"Well, what did you expect? You spent three full days basically screwing nonstop, am I right?" Amata blushed at that.

"It wasn't totally nonstop. We did other things," she replied in a rather halfhearted attempt at a defense. That drew a proper laugh from Susie.

"Right. So you walked around a bit in between banging. Excuse me. Let me guess, you haven't been on birth control in months, have you?" Amata's head dropped at that.

"No," she mumbled. "I stopped taking it months ago. Didn't see a reason."

"And you were probably too wrapped up to tell JJ to pull out, huh? And he probably though you were still taking the pill, anyway. It was bound to happen, Amata." Amata sighed. Susie made perfect sense, of course.

"I'm just not looking forward to telling my dad," she replied. Susie nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah. He never did like JJ, did he?" Amata grimaced and shook her head.

"No. Always thought I could do better."

"Well, he'll have to deal with it," Susie replied. They paused for a moment. "So how was the sex, anyway?" Amata blushed deeply at that.

"It was…different. More emotional. Passionate, I guess? Like now that we had been apart we knew how special it was."

"Good. I really do hope this all works out in the end, Amata. You two belong together," she said, standing to leave.

"Thanks, Susie. I hope it works out too. But I guess I have bigger things to worry about now." Susie nodded at her.

"Yeah, you do. Take care of yourself and the baby now. We're all here for you." And then she left Amata with her thoughts, watching her previously well planned life crumble before her eyes.

* * *

"There's a storm coming in from the West." John laughed to himself again at Bonzo's unintentional analogy. He had said it when they first left the hotel that morning. Bonzo had gone with Smith to the open-air market in the center of Coalseam, leaving John to his own devices for the day. He had followed the men to the market, wanting to see it for himself. It had been a shock to his senses, seeing the huge crowds for perusing the assorted merchant stalls. He had sought out a courier service with Smith's help, finally finding one that specialized in deliveries to the Capital Wasteland and the surrounding areas. _Capital Couriers,_ the sign had said in bright red lettering. John had explained what he needed delivered, and to where. The clerk behind the desk had replied by giving him a price that made John's eyes go wide. 500 caps for delivery to Megaton.

"How do I know you won't just take my money and not deliver it?" he had asked. The clerk rolled his eyes in return.

"Seriously? You don't get far in the courier business if you screw clients over," the clerk responded.

"They're good," Smith had interjected, taking John by surprise. Pulling his journal from his bag, he nodded at the man.

"Ok, then. You got something to send this in?" he asked the clerk. The man responded by pulling a small box from his desk, handing it to John. He slid the small book inside before writing the address on the broad side of the box. _Amata Almodovar, C/O Lucas Simms, Megaton. _He handed the box back to the clerk, who sealed it before looking back to John.

"Alright. Usually takes around two weeks for delivery," he said.

"Sounds good," John replied, extending his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you," he finished as the clerk grasped his hand, before leaving with Smith. He silently took his leave to rejoin Bonzo at the market, leaving John to explore by himself. The storm clouds had continued to roll toward town as the day had progressed, the low rumbling of thunder growing louder as the storm approached town. The looks on most the locals' faces conveyed a sense of annoyance with the coming storm. John, for his part, was somewhat excited. He had seen brief episodes of precipitation back home, but certainly never anything like a thunderstorm. Finally, midway through the afternoon, the rain broke over the town, sending people scurrying from the streets to shelter indoors or under the awnings of buildings. John stood in the now empty street for a moment, trying to absorb the experience. He closed his eyes, feeling the cool droplets wet his hair and begin to seep through his shirt, smelling the unfamiliar scent of the rain hitting the hot pavement before evaporating. Finally, he dashed for cover, trying to avoid being soaked totally through. He found himself standing next to a pretty brunette under the awning of a bar. Noticing the quizzical look on her face, he answered her unspoken question.

"I've never seen a real storm before," he said. She lifted her eyebrows at him.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"The Capital Wasteland," he said with a hint of pride. That got her attention.

"Really? What's it like? I've heard so many stories from the traders that have been there." John smiled slightly at her. In the old days, before Amata had come back around, he would have worked his charm and ended up taking the girl home. _If only._

"What stories have you heard?" he replied.

"All kinds. I like the stories about the town and the people and the animals. We don't have anything like that out here." John nodded, looking inside the bar and then back to the sky. The rain showed no signs of letting up.

"Do you have time to get something to eat and drink? And then you can ask me whatever you want." She blushed slightly before glancing at her feet and shifting nervously.

"Ok," she replied, looking back at him. He opened the door to the bar for her and guided her across the room to an empty booth. Taking seats across from each other, they resumed their conversation.

"So are there any stories you want to hear?" he asked.

"Why don't we start small? What's the town you're from like?"

"I don't really have a hometown anymore. I live in a town called Megaton, though. Little place, quiet. But the people there are mostly good people." Her eyes widened slightly at the mention of Megaton.

"Is it true it's built around an atomic bomb the Lone Wanderer disabled? Have you met him?" The words practically spilled out. John laughed slightly at the girl's enthusiasm, drawing a slight blush from her.

"Yeah, that's true. And I've met him," he replied. She blushed slightly more.

"What's he like?" she asked breathlessly.

"What do you expect him to be like?" he replied. Her eyes glazed over as she thought.

"Handsome and strong. They say he can't be killed. That he's fearless. He grew up underground and then escaped with his father. Then his father died trying to save the Wasteland. He joined a group of knights and fought a war against the people who killed his father. He destroyed their base and then went into a radiated room to save the Wasteland, same as his father. They say he's a lady killer. All the girls there love him, but none can tie him down, not since he lost his first love." John couldn't help but blush slightly at her description. So the legend made it here too. Hearing people talk about him like he was Grognak the Barbarian was an unnerving experience. He tried to think of a gentle way to tell her.

"You know, I don't think I ever caught your name," he said, extending his hand. She took it, the smoothness of her skin a contrast to his rough palms. She'd never had a hard day's work in her life. _She's fortunate. _

"Gale," she began. "Gale Campbell." He smiled at her.

"John Thompson," he replied. Her eyes went wide as saucers.

"You're…you're the…" she stammered.

"The Lone Wanderer. Yes. Not what you expected?" She turned a deep shade of red, her pale skin betraying her. The waitress saved her from further embarrassment.

"What'll you two have?" she asked. Gale sat silently staring at John, oblivious to the waitress' presence. John spoke up before the silence became awkward.

"Do you have Nuka-Cola?"

"Yep," the waitress replied.

"Two of those, then," John said. "And do you have any food that won't stop us from eating dinner later?" The waitress thought for a moment.

"Our fries are pretty popular," she replied.

"Get us an order of those too, then."

"Coming right up," she replied as she made her way back to the bar, returning promptly with two bottles of cola. "Food will be a couple minutes," she said with a smile before leaving John and Gale alone. Gale's skin had faded to a slight pink tinge. John put on his most disarming smile, hoping to make the girl slightly less star struck. He had never understood why people got like this around him. He still thought of himself as a regular man who had just been through irregular events.

"You ok?" he asked in what he hoped was a calming tone.

"Yeah…just, how do I know you're actually who you say?" John laughed.

"Did the stories you heard ever talk about my companions, the people I fought alongside?"

"Some of them," she admitted, taking a sip from her drink.

"What'd they say?" he asked, taking a drink from his cola as well.

"Well, there were the knights and their leader, the Sentinel. The traders all said she's a beautiful warrior woman, and that you two were in love once," she began, John sighing at the memory of Sarah. "And then there were the others. Your dog who went everywhere with you. The raider that taught you how to survive. Charon the zombie…" John felt a flash of annoyance at that; not at Gale but at the traders who she heard the stories from.

"Ghoul. He's a ghoul, not a zombie," John corrected gently.

"Sorry," she meekly said. "And then they talked about Fawkes," she went on, looking at John as if seeking his approval for what she had said. He smiled.

"If I introduce you to Fawkes, will you believe me?"

"He's here with you?" she asked excitedly. He nodded at her.

"He is. He's staying in the hotel, though. Apparently he draws stares if he goes out."

"I wish people here weren't like that," she whispered. "So afraid of the outside world, I mean."

"Well, the outside isn't such a nice place. You have it really good here," he replied. She looked slightly embarrassed at that.

"It's not that I don't love it here. This is my home. But there's so much more out there, and I want to be able to see it."

"You know, I grew up being told that there was no way to live outside the Vault. When I escaped, I found out that people can survive, but it's not easy. It's a hard life. In most places people are too worried about surviving to do much else. Things that would be small to you, like ice or radiation-free food, is a huge deal back home. I don't know what made this area special, that it survived the war, but you should be thankful for it," he explained.

"I am thankful. And we survived because of the base. At least that's what the old people say." That caught John's attention.

"The base?" he asked as the waitress returned with the fries.

"My grandmother told me that before the war there was a base built into the mountains around her. Then when the war came it stopped the bombs from falling here," she explained. Her explanation drew a memory to the front of John's mind. _Enclave. Shit, is this place built around an Enclave base? _

"And what happened to this base after the war?"

"No one knows. No one ever got into it, and it never opened up," she replied.

"Do you know where it is?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No, sorry. I've heard the hunters talk about old tunnels, but my dad never let me go outside the fence." John smiled at her.

"Sounds like our dads would have gotten along," he said. Realizing they had gone through the fries while they were talking, he changed the topic.

"Want to go get dinner at my hotel and meet Fawkes?" John asked.

"Alright," she replied, smiling. John left enough caps on the table to cover the bill and walked back out onto the street, Gale beside him. The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds as they moved off into the distance, getting low in the sky. Lights were beginning to flicker on in windows as evening fell. Coalseam's functioning electrical grid was another source of wonder to John, albeit one more easily understood. This region had always been a mining region, and men still worked in coal mines in the hills around town. Slightly outside of town there was a still functioning coal power plant. Apparently they had retained the knowledge of how to operate the plant, and had kept it running over the 200 years since the war. It had occurred to John that at some point in the future it may pay to make a deal with Coalseam to buy excess power that their plant produced; once the infrastructure in the Capital Wasteland could support it. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. There was still a very long trip in front of him before he could even start to worry about rebuilding D.C. For now, he decided, he would focus on having an enjoyable night with Gale that didn't end with them sleeping together. _God, she is pretty, though_, he thought as he glanced over at her. Fair skin with dark hair and blue eyes. She looked to be several years younger than him, but it could also be the smoothness of her skin Bonzo was right. He had committed himself to Amata, and he planned on seeing it through; but part of him was already regretting that decision.

"How old are you, Gale?" he asked as they wound their way through the streets. The air was heavy from the rain earlier in the day.

"I'm 19. Why?" she replied. He thought for a moment. He had been 19 when he had escaped from the Vault. It was only four years, but it felt like a lifetime ago. To him, after what he had been through, 19 felt like a child.

"No reason," he said as they turned onto the street the hotel was on. The building stood over the others, several blocks away.

"Weren't you 19 when you left the Vault?" she asked. He grunted.

"Yeah. I had just turned 19, too. Seems like a long time ago, now," he replied as they reached the hotel and entered.

"I've never been here," she whispered to him. "My family can't afford it." John empathized with that. He'd always had a soft spot for people less fortunate than him.

"Don't worry about money tonight," he replied as he led her into the room. It was less crowded than the night before, making Bonzo and Smith easier to spot. They were at the bar, as he'd expected. Smith grunted and nodded in their direction as they approached, prompting Bonzo to turn around in his chair. His eyes lingered momentarily on Gale before flitting back to John. The look in his eyes said it all. _Told you so._

* * *

Day to day life in Shady Sands had returned to its normal, slow pace for Emily. The last interesting thing to happen was Julie Farkas' visit, and that had been three weeks ago. Her report on the Mojave was thoroughly depressing. The situation there was deteriorating quickly, and the Followers were stretched to the breaking point just trying to help Freeside. The worst of it was the lack of options for the Followers to support. The Legion was a group of slavers, Mr. House appeared to be a megalomaniac, and the NCR was the NCR, warts and all. And sadly, the NCR appeared to be the best of a bad group of options. The only bright spot of it had been Julie's support for Emily's cause. They had talked about Emily's thoughts on going east, and Emily had given Julie her copy of the Survival Guide. The woman had looked at it quickly before looking back to Emily.

"John Thompson…I know that name," she said.

"How?" Emily asked, surprised.

"It must have been…yeah, it was Fawkes," Julie began. "Fawkes was a super-mutant I met around a year ago. He told me about the Lone Wanderer, told me his real name and all."

"The Wanderer you told me about, the one that was working with the Brotherhood, wrote this book?" Emily asked incredulously. Julie had told her what she knew of the Capital Wasteland, which had admittedly not been much. Most of what she knew had involved the legend of the Lone Wanderer.

"Must be him. Can't imagine there's too many people running around that could do all this," Julie replied.

The intercom in Emily's room brought her back to the present.

"Dr. McPherson, you have a visitor in the lobby," the voice said through the static.

"On my way," she replied, before striding from her room. On some level she hoped it would be Achilles. It had been weeks, and seeing him would be a nice relief from the routine of life. She was not disappointed as she entered the lobby, finding him waiting for her; looking as lean and fierce as ever. His skin looked slightly more tan, contrasting the sandy hair that fell down the sides of his head. He smiled at her as she walked to him.

"Long time, no see," he began. She smiled at him.

"It has been. I was beginning to think you'd gotten yourself crucified or something," she replied as she kissed him. He laughed at her greeting. _Actually, it was quite the reverse. _The thought of her horror were she to learn his true affiliation amused him on some level.

"There was a close call or two, but nothing I couldn't handle," he replied cockily. "You free this evening?"

"God yes. Please, get me out of here," she replied.

"I can do that," he said through his smile. What better way to celebrate the success of his mission to the Mojave than fucking an NCR citizen? Sometimes he almost felt like Mars had chosen him as well as Caesar. He knew better than to put such thoughts into words, though. Discretion was still the better part of valor for a _frumentarius _of his ambition.

* * *

**So I hope the medical terminology and what not for Amata being pregnant doesn't weird people out; but eh, this is rated M for a reason. Anyway, I appreciate all the feedback so far (I seem to collect a lot of unsigned feedback, dunno if that's normal on here or not), and hope you enjoy and keep reading!**


	13. Broken Things

"I want to come with you," Gale repeated. John sighed before looking at Fawkes, who returned his gaze evenly.

"Gale, I'm telling you, you don't know what you're asking," John replied. She huffed in frustration.

"Yes, I do. I'm asking you to help me get out of this town so I can see the world," she said. John had brought her back to meet Fawkes after dinner with Bonzo and Smith. They had sat there for several hours, answering Gale's questions and telling her the true stories behind all the legends she had heard. Gale had sat entranced, listening to the two of them. Fawkes, for his part, had graciously answered her questions and tolerated her stares. It was Fawkes who replied to her.

"Gale, in all things, a calm heart must prevail. You are being too hasty, are too enthralled by our stories to step back and think logically."

"What isn't logic…"

"Gale, stop," John interrupted. She fell silent. "You're 19. You've never left Coalseam. Have you ever fired a gun? Do you know anything about what a violent encounter is like?"

"Did you before you left the Vault?" she immediately shot back. It was his turn to be silent now. She had him there. "And I'm not like you when you left the Vault. I won't be alone; I won't be walking into a fight. And I'll have four experienced people to help me. And you can teach me! You can show me how to shoot and fight and survive!" she went on, voice rising in excitement. John could see she had her mind set on the idea.

"We don't know what we're walking into. And I don't know if I could live with myself if something were to happen to you. But I know that I can't tell you no. Just do me a favor, Gale, and listen to what Fawkes said. Go home tonight and think hard about this. Look at your family, your home, and really understand that it will be the last time you see them for a very long time. And then, if you're still set on this, meet us at our wagon tomorrow. We'll be leaving around 6 AM," he said to her, rising to show her to the door. It was late, and he wanted a decent night's sleep before hitting the road again. She followed him to the door before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. _She smells like flowers, _he thought.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear. "I promise I won't let you down." She released him before turning and walking away. _Nice ass_, the animal side of his brain whispered as he watched her leave. He immediately shut the thought down. He had Amata waiting for him back home. John turned back to Fawkes, who was still watching him.

"I don't know why people seem to flock to me," John said.

"You're a legend. And you always were charismatic. But are you sure this is a good idea? An extra person, one inexperienced in the nature of the Wastes, could be a liability," Fawkes replied. John nodded at him.

"I know. But she has a point. She's really not that much different from me when I was her age," he began. "And there's something else. Something I can't put my finger on. But it feels like she's trying to escape something. And if I can help her, I feel like I should," he said. Fawkes chuckled at him.

"Very well, my friend. Are you off to sleep?"

"Yeah. I need it. Bonzo said the Interior Desert is going to be bad."

"It is most unpleasant. But not too daunting, aside from Columbus and Indianapolis," he replied.

"So I'm told. I'll find out soon enough, I suppose. Good night, Fawkes," John said as he closed the door to the room. His own room was just down the hall, and he stripped off his clothes as soon as he reached it, before falling asleep. And that night Lucy West visited his dreams.

He made his way through the streets the next morning, Regulator duster catching the breeze behind him. He was still perturbed by the previous night's dream. He was drawn from his thoughts by the sight of the caravan, being prepared by Bonzo and Smith. The Brahmin were hitched and looked to be almost ready to go. And standing there, carrying a small pack and wearing a simple t-shirt and miner's pants, was Gale. She shifted her weight nervously, knowing she was the odd person out. John felt Bonzo's stare, looking over to find the trader raising an eyebrow at him. He looked from Bonzo back to Gale, before nodding his head.

"Alright. Let's load up and get out of here," he said.

* * *

The first thing Reilly noticed upon entering her command room was the breathlessness of the just-returned patrol. That observation was quickly supplanted by the realization that they were two men short. Brick, her former heavy weapons specialist, began speaking before Reilly could ask any question.

"Ambush, Reilly. Up off Pennsylvania Avenue." Reilly was taken aback by that. It was a rare occurrence that any of her patrols encountered anything that could trouble them. They had expanded in the years that had gone by since the Enclave had been destroyed and the super-mutants wiped out. From her small, makeshift team, they had expanded to a company of 50 mercs, mainly made up by those the Brotherhood didn't select to join their ranks. They had reached a deal, one brokered by the Lone Wanderer, towards the end of the wars, with the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood sent them recruits and gave them the run of the northern D.C. ruins, and in return the Rangers kept the peace, protected the populace, and guarded the water caravans. It had seemed a fair enough deal at the time, Reilly had thought. She had become disillusioned, though, by the Brotherhood's hoarding of energy weapons and the quality of some of the recruits the Brotherhood had sent to her. Still, they had enough people now that she had split the company into squads, giving leadership to her old team, ensuring the new members would have someone experienced keeping an eye on them. Or at least that had been the plan.

"Ambushed by who, Brick?" Reilly asked.

"Fucking raiders," Brick spat out. The wide eyes on the faces of her squad confirmed her story. Reilly felt a twist in her stomach.

"Raiders? After all this time?"

"You know anyone else that runs around in leather and welding masks?" Brick replied, the sarcasm conveying her annoyance with Reilly's questions. Butcher, who had silently entered the room, interjected in an attempt to calm the situation.

"Why don't you take us through what happened, Brick? Where are Cole and Herc?"

"Dead. They got killed in the initial exchange. We were on mission when we got opened up on by a group of six of them, firing from a building. It seemed like all of them had assault rifles, there was a lot of fire coming at us. We returned fire by they caught us in the open, there was no cover. I told the kids to break contact, covered them myself. We couldn't get to Herc and Cole's bodies, though. They're still out there."

"Then they could still be alive," Reilly responded immediately.

"Doubt it," Brick replied. "I saw Cole take one in the head myself."

"We still can't leave them out there," Reilly replied, turning to Butcher. "Go get Donovan. Tell him to have his squad ready in ten minutes. We're going after them," she commanded, before turning back to Brick. "Rearm and get water. Your squad is going too," she said. Brick scowled.

"You putting him in charge?" she asked. Reilly rolled her eyes. Three years hadn't been enough for her and Donovan to make peace.

"No, Brick. I'll be in charge." That got Brick's attention.

"You're coming with us?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm tired of spending all my time in this compound. And if raiders are attacking again, people will need to know. You're dismissed, Brick. Have your people out front within ten minutes," Reilly said, before moving to put on her armor. She wasn't scared, but the thought of raiders again made her uncomfortable. She had begun to take peace for granted.

There was no sign of the raiders as they approached the kill zone the Rangers had been ambushed in. It was possible, of course, the raiders had decided to lay low when they saw the group of 20 Rangers approach. _The silence is almost eerie, _Reilly thought. The only sound was the light breeze blowing through the rubble. Reilly gave the command to fan out, spreading her Rangers in a loose line in the hopes of spotting the missing men. It wasn't long before a cry went up. Reilly and the others ran their way over to where the yell came from, people slowing to a stunned walk at the sight that greeted them. The two Rangers were very obviously dead, their bodies suspended from meat hooks, blood pooling on the ground beneath them.

"Shit," Reilly whispered as a small group began to take the men down. Brick had been right. There was at least one band of raiders operating in the Capital Wasteland again. Donovan approaching drew her attention from the two dead men.

"Why do you think they came back after all this time?" he asked. Reilly had been turning the question over ever since Brick had delivered her report.

"Well…I think it's because the Wanderer is gone. Three-Dog has been broadcasting that nonstop for the past few weeks. When the raiders disappeared, was it because he got them all? Or because they were scared of what he would do to them?" she replied.

"You don't think the Brotherhood scares them?" he asked, surprise in his voice.

"Not the way the Wanderer did. I heard the reports from Evergreen Mills after he and his crew cleared it. Every raider they captured was hung as a warning to the others, with one exception. The one that was left alive was meant to go tell the other raiders they knew that there would be no mercy for them. I think a lot of them just took the hint and decided it wasn't worth it. I mean really, do you think someone that enjoys hanging people from meat hooks is going to suddenly be reformed?" Reilly said back. Donovan thought for a moment before nodding.

"Makes sense. In that case, maybe someone should tell Three-Dog to shut up about it. The last thing we need is the raiders coming back like they were before."

* * *

Achilles had begun to feel something unfamiliar when he was with Emily. He had been back in Shady Sands for a week, and there was nothing urgent that required him to leave again soon. Emily had seemed happy to hear that when he told her, his first night back in town. What he had initially thought of as an amusing diversion during his trips through the area had subtly began to change as he spent more time with her. While he still saw himself as a man of the Legion, complete with all the ambitions he had always held; he had, for the first time, briefly contemplated life outside the Legion. The thought quickly vanished as he remembered where he was, in the capital of a corrupt, decaying nation collapsing under its own weight. If he could save Emily, though, he had decided he would. She was merely dissolute; not a complete profligate. How to warm her up to the idea, though, was the difficulty. She was older than him, and both brilliant and stubborn in equal measure. The NCR had conducted a very effective propaganda campaign amongst its own people, convincing most of the supposed horror of the Legion. They had even managed to convince many NCR citizens that legionaries eschewed women to lay with other men. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. He had been no more than 10 when he was made to watch two deviants, as the Legion called them, be scourged and crucified. Their legs were left unbroken, and it took two days for the men to die of shock caused by hypovolemia. It had struck Achilles, even at 10, as a massive waste. He had been smart enough, though, to keep his mouth shut. But someday, once he ascended to power in the Legion, he would put an end to that ridiculous policy. That and the ban on medicinal chems were Achilles' two strongest disagreements with Caesar. While he didn't question Caesar's wisdom in regards to most chems-he had seen how loathsome the Fiends in New Vegas were-the ban on Stimpaks, especially, seemed absurd. Legionaries were already out-gunned by the NCR, and their armor was substantially inferior; denying them something that could increase their survivability seemed the height of disregard for their lives. Achilles had been a line legionary before being recruited into the _frumentarii_; he had been a prime legionary by the time he was 22. He still had friends in the regular _centuriae,_ and while they were too disciplined to ever question Caesar, he knew they resented the way they were being denied an advantage.

Achilles quietly slid from bed, trying to not wake Emily as he did. She stirred slightly before rolling back over. He made his way silently to the front door of the apartment, retrieving the newspaper that lay outside of it before taking a seat on the sofa in the living room. Idly flipping through the paper, he waited for Emily to wake up. The only thing particularly interesting was an article about an address Aaron Kimball, President of the NCR, had made to Congress. It was standard political tripe, mostly-a strong economy, rebuilding the Wasteland, and defeating the Legion were supposedly the main goals of his administration. Achilles felt a twist of disgust in his stomach. He truly despised Kimball, and often wished he'd receive the order to assassinate the man. The NCR's security around the President while in Shady Sands was formidable, though. So Kimball was free to continue to parrot his lies while the Legion bided their time and waited for him to make a mistake and come into the open. Emily striding into the room, sans clothing, drew his attention from the paper. He looked at her, instantly feeling his desire begin to ignite at the sight of her lean, tall form. She smiled, as if reading his mind, before sitting next to him on the sofa and planting a kiss on him. He returned it, running his hand over her thigh as he did. The skin was smooth under his palm. She broke away, sitting back and looking at him.

"How're you this morning?" she asked, eyes glancing at the bulge in the front of his underwear. He smiled back at her.

"I'm just fine. Just reading the paper while I waited for you," he replied as he leaned forward to kiss her neck, moving her hair out of the way as he did. She shuddered slightly as his lips grazed her skin.

"Anything good?" she whispered as his hand slid up her thighs before finding their mark, already waiting for him. She gasped as he began to lightly touch her.

"Kimball being Kimball," he replied softly as he kissed over her body, before turning her to lay lengthwise on the couch. She began to speak, but the words were lost as his mouth grazed over her, tongue flicking out to please her. Quiet moans escaped her as he warmed her up. She was the only woman he had done this to, and, judging by her reaction, he had a talent for it. He slid off his underwear while he went down on her, before rising and entering her. Her eyes rolled back as he began to gently move in her. Achilles looked over the woman beneath him, before the realization hit him. He cared about her. Loved her, perhaps. The last thing a legionary was supposed to do, and he had done it. And yet, that seemed a distant concern, his attention solely focused on her pleasure. There would be plenty of time to figure out how this fit into his life in the Legion later.

* * *

Amata sat in the clinic, waiting on Elliot to begin her two week checkup. She had filled out the questionnaire he had given her, charting her physical and emotional progress through the pregnancy. She didn't feel hugely different, other than the morning sickness and the increasing difficulty in working out as hard as she normally did. The weepiness she had experienced in the early weeks seemed to have mostly faded, and, coupled with her refusal to let the Vault residents see any weakness from her, had reduced how much she cried. She still hadn't told her father, but had decided that if everything went well with her checkup she would tell him that day. Several more minutes passed before Elliot, accompanied by Jane, entered the room. He smiled at her as she rose to her feet to greet him.

"Good morning, Overseer. How have you been feeling?" he asked as he guided her to a seat on the examining table.

"Fine. Nauseous, and tired, but otherwise fine," she replied as she perched herself on the table. He laughed lightly at her reply.

"That's totally normal, nothing to be concerned about. It should begin to go away in the next few weeks. How have you been feeling about everything?" he asked as he scanned her answers on the questionnaire.

"I'm ok," Amata began. "Still haven't told anyone, and I still wish JJ were here, but otherwise I feel ok about this. Kind of excited, really," she replied, grinning slightly. Elliot and Jane both smiled back at her.

"Good," Elliot replied. "Being positive will make everything easier. So we're going to do the first ultrasound today, as well as some more testing to check for any possible birth defects," he explained to her, before guiding her back to one of the specialized examining rooms in the clinic. Amata unzipped the top half of her Vault suit before lying back on the table as Jane got the machine running. Elliot had her lift her undershirt to expose her stomach, before dispensing a gel over her abdomen. Jane ran the ultrasound paddle over her, all of them intent on the screen until it finally found it's target. Amata stared at the shape, something that resembled a jellybean. Elliot looked for a moment before speaking up.

"Everything looks normal for this stage," he began as Jane removed the paddle and handed Amata a towel to clean up with. She rubbed off the gel as Elliot continued. "Will you want to know the sex of the baby?" he asked. Amata thought on that for a moment.

"No," she replied at last. "I'd rather it be a surprise."

"Very well," he said as she stood back up. "I won't need to see you until the end of the first trimester, so plan on coming back in six weeks. By then you'll be starting to show, so I can issue you maternity suits as well," he continued as they made their way to the doorway of the clinic.

"Everything looked normal?" Amata asked, seeking confirmation. The first glimpse she had gotten of the life growing inside her had taken her breath away.

"Completely. We'll run these amniocentesis, but I think everything is going to be just fine," Elliot replied, smiling at her. Amata smiled back in relief, shaking his hand before leaving for her office. She needed to brace herself before telling her father.

The hours dragged by, doing nothing to alleviate Amata's anxiety. She kept replaying every way the conversation could go wrong in her head. Her father had never liked JJ, and had not been shy about expressing his displeasure at their relationship. This, though, would be a whole other level. Her father was a traditional man; he probably would have thrown JJ in the Vault jail if he'd known that Amata and he had been sleeping together. And no matter how much she tried to mentally prepare herself, she still dreaded her father's wrath. The memory of the beating she had received when James and JJ escaped the Vault was still with her. She had debated asking Susie to come, but had decided that this was a situation she had to handle alone. The evening finally came, and after eating her dinner in solitude, Amata made her way to her father's quarters, entering to find him listening to a holotape while reading. He looked up, smiling at her before taking off his glasses and setting the book down.

"Good evening, Overseer. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you, daddy," Amata replied, taking a seat across the table from him. He looked at her expectantly as she shifted uncomfortably in the seat, trying to work up the nerve to tell him what was happening.

"Well?" he asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"There's no easy way to say this…" she began as he raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm pregnant, dad." There was silence as he stared at her, his jaw visibly clinching.

"Pregnant," he repeated in a deliberate tone.

"Yes," she replied. He breathed heavily, rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache.

"By whom?" he asked, eyes still closed and a grimace on his face.

"JJ," she replied, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her father. He breathed deeply for several seconds, as if trying to calm himself.

"Him. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I take it this happened when you and the others left the Vault last month?"

"Yes," she replied. "We went to Megaton for his birthday." Her father's jaw clinched more tightly at that.

"I have never understood what you saw in that young man; but that's irrelevant now. I take it he will be moving back into the Vault and marrying you?" She shifted again. He was not going to like her next answer.

"Actually…I don't even know where he is. He left four days after his birthday. He said he was heading for California." Her father stared at her, the anger visible in his eyes.

"You're pregnant by a man who has left you to go on some ludicrous trek across the Wastes?"

"It's JJ, dad. I'm sure he has a good reason…"

"The same way he and his father had a good reason when they fled the Vault? Have you forgotten the damage that caused?" he exploded, his anger finally overcoming his self-control. Amata fought the urge to shrink back, instead standing her ground.

"I remember perfectly. And guess what, dad? So do the Wastes. He left here and did more in 18 months than most people do in a lifetime. You should be proud that your grandchild has his blood," she replied. He was taken aback by the fierceness of her response.

"How did my girl grow up to be a whore? Where did I go wrong?" he replied heatedly, glaring at her. Amata's jaw dropped, an incredulous look on her face before pushing away from the table and standing up.

"I've heard enough. I came here as a courtesy, dad. Although after this, I know I don't want you to have anything to do with my child," she spat out as she stalked toward the door. "Oh, and whore, dad? Really? JJ is the only man I've been with," she finished, before storming out of the room. Alphonse almost immediately regretted what he had said; but he didn't know if the damage would be repairable this time.

* * *

The Interior Desert gave new meaning to the word miserable. They were two weeks out of Coalseam, having passed the ruins of Columbus, Ohio two days previously. The scorching sun, the endless, rolling desert, and the lack of any towns to distract from it all made the trip mind numbing. The fact that it would likely be another month to Kansas City did nothing to make things easier. Gale's charming personality was about the only thing stopping John from losing his mind. She could make conversation about anything, and he had begun teaching her the basics of marksmanship. They had started with his 10mm pistol, and she had gradually learned the basics. Her being with them also made John walk more, and the weight he had gained in retirement was beginning to shed from his frame. On the other hand, the increased walking was hell on his knee; and his regular dose of Med-X was beginning to lose its effectiveness. He was hesitant to increase the dosage, though, fearing what would happen if he ran out before reaching K.C.

"John, I'm bored. Tell me a story," Gale called down from her seat on the wagon, looking devoid of any energy. The group as a whole couldn't help but laugh at her demand, even Smith chuckling to himself at it.

"Ok, Gale. What'd you want to hear?" he replied, smiling under the wide brim of his hat.

"Something I haven't heard yet. How about…you've never told me about Sarah. What about her? Did you really love her like the stories say?" John grimaced. He was still trying to sort through his feelings about Lucy after the dreams he'd had; the last thing he needed was Sarah's memory thrown into the mix. Looking at Gale's expectant face, though, he couldn't bring himself to deny her.

"Yeah, I loved her," he replied. She looked at him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she spoke.

"When did you know you did?" Gale asked. He sighed as he thought. He knew exactly when it was.

"Fawkes was actually with me when I realized," he said. Gale raised her eyebrows.

"Really? When was it?"

"It was right after we had fought our way to Project Purity…" he began.

_ Autumn and his guard lay dead in the rotunda of the Memorial. Sarah and he had no time to rejoice in their victory as the intercom came to life._

_ "Hello? Hello, is anyone there?" a woman's voice asked over the line. John recognized it. Dr. Madison Li, and she sounded frantic. Sarah ran up the metal stairs to the intercom as Li continued. "This is Dr. Li, there's something wrong with the Purifier." Sarah responded before John could._

_ "Dr. Li? This is Sarah Lyons. I'm in the control room, we both are. What's going on?"_

_ "I've been monitoring the equipment remotely, and we have a serious problem. The facility has been damaged in the fighting. Some looks accidental, some may have been sabotage. There's pressure building in the holding tanks; it needs to be released now or the whole facility could explode. To release the pressure you're going to have to turn the Purifier on, do you understand me? It has to be turned on NOW! If I'm reading this right, I'm afraid there are lethal levels of radiation in the chamber. I'm sorry, I wish there was some other way, but there's just no time. It has to be turned on now or the damage will be catastrophic." The line went silent as John turned to face Sarah, a look of resignation on her face._

_ "Well, so much for celebrating," she said, staring into his eyes sadly. "One of us is going to have to go in there and turn the damned thing on. And whoever does it isn't coming back out. Not exactly how I imagined going out, you know? So, what should we do? Draw straws?" John looked at Sarah, letting himself appreciate how beautiful she was, underneath the armor and the hard exterior. Not that it mattered now. His life would be over within five minutes. At the base of the stairs Fawkes stood. John knew, in the logical part of his head, that Fawkes could do it with no problem; he was resistant to radiation. But he couldn't bring himself to send someone else in to do a job he knew, in his heart, was his. The Purifier was his mother and father's dream. It was only right that he finish it. He also knew exactly what the Purifier's passcode would be, his father's voice echoing through his memory, across the years. "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely."_

_ "I'll do it. I'll start the Purifier," he said to her, turning to Fawkes before she could respond. "Fawkes, it's been an honor fighting alongside you. Take advantage of your freedom. Make it count," he said, extending his hand. Fawkes took it, his massive hand swallowing John's. _

_ "I will. Thank you for everything. I will never forget it. Farewell, my friend." John turned back to Sarah. Her eyes were red. He could feel the crush of time weighing down on him, the remainder of his life ticking away. The Purifier had to be activated; he couldn't afford a drawn out farewell with Sarah._

_ "John, you don't have to do…" she began, before he stopped her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her into a kiss. The shock quickly passed and she began pressing back against him. He pulled away, their foreheads touching as he looked down into her eyes._

_ "Goodbye, Sarah," he whispered, before shoving her back into Fawkes, who wrapped her up. Her eyes went wide as she realized what was happening._

_ "No! God dammit, let me go!" she shrieked as John raced into the airlock, beginning the cycling process. Seeing her fury, her desperate struggle to get to him, he realized that he loved her. She had gotten to him over their time fighting together. He felt a moment of self-pity as he realized it would never be. He would die here, in the Jefferson Memorial. No future awaited him, but he could give the Wasteland a future. The door to the chamber opened, the heat and radiation hitting him like a wall. He staggered forward, the words from Tecumseh keeping him focused. "When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death…"_

_2. His knees buckled as he desperately grabbed the edges of the console to steady himself. _

_1."So that when their time comes to die they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way…" his strength began to fail and he sunk to his knees, his vision blurring as a powerful fatigue began to overtake him. With his last ounce of strength, he focused on the console and hit the last number._

_6. "Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." Above him, from a place that seemed very distant, he heard machinery humming and got a glimpse, through clear water, of Thomas Jefferson. His head rolled to the side, and the last thing he saw was Sarah, desperately banging on the glass. And then everything went black._

There was silence after John finished his story. While they had all heard the basic story, none of them had ever gotten all the details, not to that extent.

"Wow," Gale said, looking at him. "So that's what all the traders were talking about."

"Yup," John replied, looking back. "And that's when I realized I loved Sarah. Right before I went to my death. God, apparently, has a sense of humor."

* * *

**So that's the longest chapter I've written so far. Also the longest break in between chapters. Sorry about that, for those of you reading this on the regular. Got busy with stuff on the homefront and had to handle that. Hopefully I'll be back on the regular now. Also, been turning over the idea for a story that kind of ties into this. It would basically be a series of one-offs, the adventures of the Lone Wanderer after the conclusion of Broken Steel but before this story began; basically charting the destruction of the super-mutants and raiders and the falling out with the Brotherhood. If any of you who have been reading this think that would be interesting, let me know. As always, thanks for all the feedback and taking the time to read, it is appreciated. **


	14. The Same Moon

The ruins of Indianapolis shone in the light of the Moon as John and Smith stood their watch. The caravan had increased its pace as they approached the city, doing everything in their power to make it past the raider den as quickly as possible. They hadn't succeeded, though, and the area was so dangerous that it necessitated a stronger than normal guard. Fawkes could stand watch alone, and Gale and Bonzo were nowhere near as proficient as Smith and John at fighting; and so the three best combatants had opted to split the watches amongst themselves. Fawkes required little rest, so the two humans had offered to stand watch first. Nearby, under the wagon, Gale had laid out her sleeping mat, John's Regulator duster serving as her blanket. Bonzo lay stretched out on the bench of the wagon, and Fawkes had simply fallen asleep leaned against the wagon wheel. John adjusted his rifle before pacing the length of the wagon to where Smith stood. The man had begun to come out of his shell more and more, particularly since Gale had joined their party. As he did, John had begun to wonder how he had failed to notice the man earlier. Smith had a talent, it seemed, for making himself appear unremarkable at first. As John looked at Smith in the Moonlight, he wondered, not for the first time, how the man had learned to blend in. Everything about him-his odd accent, his size, the weapon he carried-stood out. He had avoided answering most of Gale's questions, managing to escape with a cursory explanation that he was from a small village in the West but called New Reno home now. He had been no more forthcoming about his personal life, to the point that John didn't even know the man's age. If forced to guess, he would estimate as young as 40, but possibly as old as his father would have been. And something else, an indescribable vibe the man gave off, said he could be as old as the Wasteland itself. Smith raising the night sight on his rifle brought John to alert, readying his own rifle in response to the movement.

"What is it?" John whispered as Smith scanned the area.

"Movement," he replied. "I think we may have compa-" Smith was cut off by the staccato sound of gunfire, directed at them.

"Shit!" John yelled as rounds impacted at his feet. He shouldered his rifle and unloaded a burst in the direction of the muzzle flashes, searching for some sort of cover as he did. The initiation of the fire had been enough to awake the rest of the party, Fawkes roaring to his feet as he shouldered his Gatling laser and began to unload a withering amount of fire. John dropped to the ground and saw Gale, death-gripping the pistol he had given her.

"Gale, cover that way!" He yelled as she stared, wide eyed, before nodding in acknowledgement and rolling out from under the wagon to cover their backs. Turning back to the fight, he realized Smith was gone; his shape fading into the night as he raced toward the positions they were being fired upon from. He knew, instinctively, that it was the correct move. Take the initiative away from the enemy. "Fawkes, protect the wagon!" he yelled over the hum of the mutant's weapon. Fawkes bellowed an acknowledgement as John raced forward, following Smith into the night.

* * *

Amata sat next to Susie on the overlook outside Vault 101, the light of the Moon casting a white glow over the Capital Wasteland. The air was still and hot, and Amata welcomed the change it brought from the recycled air of the Vault. Amata had felt more trapped than usual after Susie had returned from Megaton with a package for her. One look at the handwriting had given away the sender-it was JJ's neat print. She had sat alone in her quarters, reading the small journal; part love letter, part account of his trip to a place called Coalseam. Amata's hope that she would be able to get a message to JJ had been dashed by Susie, who had told her that the journal had been posted more than two weeks before. By now they would be far away from the town it had been sent from.

Susie telling her that had effectively crushed the faint hope Amata had held onto, the hope that she would be able to let JJ know she was pregnant. She knew now that, support from Susie and Elliot aside, she would have to go through the next 8 months alone. That thought had opened the door to all her other anxieties about being pregnant and being a mother; the knowledge that JJ's mother had died in childbirth doing nothing to ease her fears. It had rapidly led to Amata feeling as if she was on the verge of a panic attack; and she had decided that getting out of the Vault, even momentarily, would be the best course to clear her mind. She had found Susie and together they had sat outside as the sun had set, Amata telling Susie about the contents of the journal. The moon had risen by the time they had talked about everything it had said, and they found themselves sitting in silence. Finally, Susie addressed the elephant in the room, as they looked out towards the ruins of D.C.

"Any preference on boy or girl?" Susie asked. Amata smiled at the thought.

"No. Not really, as long as it's healthy. I've got this feeling, though, that it's a girl."

"Why do you think that?" Amata shrugged in response.

"I dunno. Just a feeling," she replied. Susie looked at her, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Thought of any names?" she asked. That drew a proper laugh from Amata.

"Yeah, a few. I thought maybe name it after our parents," Amata replied.

"You'd name the baby after your dad? After what he said?" Susie immediately asked. Amata felt a twist in her stomach at the memory. She had told Susie about how her conversation with her father had gone.

"No," she said. "I meant if it's a girl-Catherine Maria doesn't sound too bad, does it?" Susie smiled.

"Has a nice ring to it. What about a boy?"

"Maybe James. I think JJ would like that," Amata replied. The conversation fell silent as they sat, enjoying the peace of the night. Finally, they rose to return to the Vault. Amata looked up at the Moon one last time as they did. It occurred to her that it was something humanity hadn't managed to destroy. It still shone its light on the Earth, the same as it had for the entirety of human existence. Somewhere, she realized, JJ could be looking up at the same Moon. And so Amata bid the Moon to be her relay; to tell her distant love that he was still with her, no matter how far he went. The creak of the wooden door opening drew Amata back to reality. With a final glance at the outside would, she made her way back into the Vault.

* * *

Reilly silently fumed as she crossed the courtyard of the Citadel, Brick and Butch following her closely. She'd had low expectations for her meeting with the Brotherhood leadership, and even those expectations hadn't been met. The Brotherhood had flat out refused to give them energy weapons, which she had expected. They had also refused the supplies Reilly had requested, which struck her as vaguely selfish; and when she had begun to explain why she thought the raiders had attacked, Elder Lyons had rather icily dismissed her. The final part had been what pushed Reilly over the edge. She had stormed from the Citadel proper with Brick and Butcher, back to the squad they had left in the courtyard. The squad rose to their feet as the trio approached, falling in behind Reilly to begin the trek back to the Ranger compound. Her temper began to cool as they made their way from the Citadel and back into D.C. itself. Brick and Butcher had wisely backed off, letting Reilly calm down before they tried to address what had happened. The unballing of her fists and a slowing in her pace were their signs that it was safe to talk.

"So what's the plan, boss?" Brick drawled out. Reilly thought for a moment. If the Brotherhood didn't want to play ball, maybe there was someone else that would.

"We're going to make a detour and stop by the GNR building. If the Brotherhood doesn't care what we think, maybe Three-Dog will," Reilly responded.

"You sure that's a good idea, Reilly?" Butcher asked, concern evident in his voice. "GNR has a pretty decent Brotherhood guard stationed at it." Reilly nodded in acknowledgement, the Moon bright enough to see everything by.

"Worst that happens is they tell us to get lost," she began, "but we're still technically on good terms with Three-Dog. And who knows, maybe he still believes his 'Good Fight' bullshit. Either way, he's our best chance to warn the people," Reilly finished as she set a course for GNR. Brick and Butcher's silence served as their acquiescence to her plan; both well aware of how stubborn Reilly was when she set her mind to something. The group made their way unmolested through the streets and abandoned Metro tunnels, the silence a far cry from that day, years before, when Reilly and her crew had first met the Wanderer.

The memory of that day was pushed from Reilly's mind as they emerged from the Metro and back onto the streets. Reilly recognized the place, having been there before; and she knew from the talks she'd had with him that the Wanderer and Sarah Lyons had first met here. She led the group over the makeshift catwalks and through the ruined building to emerge into the GNR Plaza, a lone Brotherhood knight standing watch at the building the only other presence in the Plaza. The armor did nothing to mask the guard's uncomfortable shifting as the group approached.

"What is your business, outsiders?" the knight asked, his voice modified by the helmet's speech unit. Even in power armor, and carrying a laser rifle, the knight's body language revealed how conscious he was of the number of Rangers around him. Reilly held up her hand; a mixture of greeting and an attempt at calming the man.

"We're friendly, knight. We just have important news for Three-Dog," Reilly responded, flashing her most winning smile as she did. If using some seductive charm would get her access to Three-Dog, then so be it. There was a moment's pause as the knight tried to think of the appropriate response.

"I, uh…I have to check with my superiors," he offered up, before making his way to the intercom. "Sir? There's a group from Reilly's Rangers here to see Three-Dog. Is he receiving visitors?"

"Standby," came the response. The group stood in awkward silence, Reilly considering what her options would be should they be turned away. While she probably had enough men to overwhelm the small Brotherhood garrison if they caught them off guard, it would still be a costly fight. Reilly ruled out the thought almost as quickly as it had occurred to her. She was there to try and maintain some of the peace the Wanderer had built, not start a shooting war with the Brotherhood; one she knew she had no chance of winning. The reply from the intercom put an end to her debate.

"Alright, send them up," the voice replied through the static, the lock audibly unbolting as the intercom went silent. The smile disappeared from Reilly's face as she opened the door to enter the building, the garrison commander waiting to greet her group. She knew the man, though not well; she believed his name was Wilks. His eyes showed surprise at the size of her group.

"I had not realized there were so many of you," Wilks said, surveying the squad of heavily armed Rangers. Reilly saved her smile. With a young, inexperienced knight it would work; a veteran warrior, such as Wilks, would be indifferent to it.

"We were at the Citadel today. Don't like traveling alone, after recent events," Reilly explained.

"What events are those?" Wilks pressed, obviously fishing for information.

"That's what I'm here to talk to Three-Dog about. Where's he at?" she asked. Wilks sighed in frustration before responding.

"Up in his studio, like usual. Your squad has to stay down here, though," he replied. That caught Reilly off guard.

"Why?" she asked, worried that the knight somehow knew her intent.

"Policy," he succinctly replied.

"Can these two-" she began, gesturing at Brick and Butcher-"come too? They're part of the story." Wilks huffed again.

"Fine. But leave your weapons here," he said, Reilly nodding assent as she handed her rifle to one of the mercs. She always carried a well concealed pistol, and she knew Brick and Butcher had concealed weapons as well. The trio silently made their way through the door to the studio, Reilly looking at Butcher as they did. Her face spoke volumes, and Butcher nodded, understanding what she was implying as he stayed behind to cover the door. Reilly and Brick silently climbed the stairs to meet Three-Dog, finding him sitting at a table, eating what appeared to be Mirelurk. _Supplied by the Brotherhood, doubtless._ Reilly felt a hint of distaste at the sight of the man. She had respected him and his message of hope during the dark times; and he had given her and her crew positive coverage. She had always thought his portrayal of the Lone Wanderer was outlandish, to say the least, but anything that gave people some hope in those days was worth it. Now, though…now she just saw a shameless Brotherhood propagandist. He had effectively sold out the Lone Wanderer at the same time that the Brotherhood had, in Reilly's eyes. The DJ smiled widely as Reilly and Brick approached his table.

"Now this is a pleasant surprise! To what does ol' Three-Dog owe the pleasure, ladies?" The man had lost none of his flamboyant charm.

"We got some news I thought you may be interested in," Reilly responded as she took a seat. Brick remained standing, ready to be an intimidating presence if the situation called for it. Three-Dog's eyebrows went up at that, elated at the possibility of something new to report.

"And what's that?" Three-Dog replied.

"There are raiders attacking again, and they killed two of my men," Reilly replied flatly. Three-Dog's face betrayed a hint of shock.

"Raiders? You're sure?" he asked quickly.

"Yeah, asshole, we're sure," Brick interjected before Reilly could respond. Three-Dog's expression went from shocked to hostile. _Shit. Thanks, Brick._

"Well what the fuck do you want me to do about it? I'm sorry 'bout your guys, but I can't do much from here," he fired back. Reilly took control before things could get out of hand.

"I want you to stop crowing about the Wanderer being gone," she replied. There was a pause before Three-Dog burst out laughing.

"Is…is that why you're here? To stand up for your boyfriend?" he replied, drawing a flash of fury from Reilly. _He couldn't possibly know, could he? _"Whooey, I have heard some good shit, but that takes the cake," he continued, wiping his eyes. He looked like he was going to continue, but before he could Brick's fist slammed into the man's jaw, knocking him from his chair. He was caught so off guard that he couldn't even call out before Brick set upon him. She drove a kick into his ribs before pinning him to the ground, drawing her pistol from its hiding place. Three-Dog's eyes went wide at the sight of the weapon. Reilly rose from the chair and calmly strode to where Three-Dog was pinned, drawing her .44 Magnum as she walked. Three-Dog's eyes frantically darted around the room, looking for help that wasn't coming. Reilly knelt next to him, the anger in her eyes obvious.

"Listen, Three-Dog. This wasn't a request. You're going to stop reporting on the Wanderer. I don't know what game you and the Brotherhood are playing, and I don't normally care how far down your throat you keep Lyons' dick; but if any more of my people get killed by raiders 'cause you wouldn't shut up, you'll die the way they did: on a fuckin' meat hook. We clear?" Her voice had dropped into an icy whisper, every syllable dripping with menace, making clear that she was deadly serious. Three-Dog looked at her with barely controlled hate.

"I thought you were Reilly's Rangers, not Thompson's Rangers," he spat out. "That how it is, Reilly? He fucks you and you think he can do better than the Brotherhood?"

"He did do better than the Brotherhood. Remember what I said, Three-Dog." Before the man could respond, she clubbed him with the butt of her pistol, rendering him unconscious. _How could he have heard about me and John? _She wondered as she rose to her feet. She looked to Brick, the gunner's eyes wide as the magnitude of what they had done hit her.

"Come on, Brick. Let's get the hell out of here before he wakes up," Reilly said. Brick silently nodded and followed her as they hastily made their way back down to her squad and out the door before Wilks could ask any questions. Only once they were well away from GNR did Reilly speak.

"Thompson's Rangers. Has a kind of nice sound, doesn't it?"

"You renaming the outfit, Reilly?" Butcher replied. She shrugged.

"Why not? I don't see wearing his name as some sort of shameful thing. Maybe it will even make the raiders think he's still out there."

* * *

John's knee was screaming with pain as he made his way through the rubble and ruins that the caravan had been shot at from. It took every ounce of his self-control to ignore the pain and focus on his surroundings. He was moving down an alley in what used to be a building complex, the sound of voices and gunfire coming from where the alley turned right. He paused at the junction, peeking around the corner as he did. The bright moonlight revealed two figures, laughing and haphazardly firing automatic weapons at the caravan. John rounded the corner and unloaded a burst from his rifle, killing both men. _207. _Before he could advance down the alley a voice came from behind him.

"Drop the gun, fucker," a man's voice said. _Shit! Shit! _John screamed at himself as his rifle dropped to the ground. He turned to face the man that would be his killer and was instantly disgusted. _This is how it ends. The Lone Wanderer of the Capital Wasteland, killed by some strung-out raider. All because I got sloppy. _In the distance the shooting had stopped, and he could hear Smith and Fawkes yelling his name. The raider didn't fail to notice.

"Sounds like all my friends are dead. Guess I should give yours something to cry about; return the favor," the man said, his eyes betraying his glee at the idea. John glanced up at the Moon, the same one he had spent so many nights under back home. Right now everyone he knew and had loved-Sarah, Lucy, Moira; all were under that Moon. And if she came out of the Vault, Amata was too. John used the Moon as the focus of his last goodbyes, filling in for the God that almost no one believed in anymore. _Tell Lucy I'm sorry I hurt her and never got to make things right. Tell Sarah I'm sorry I let her down. Tell Moira I wish I could have been better. And tell Amata…forever._ All these goodbyes flashed through his mind as the raider pulled back the bolt on his rifle and raised it at John. For the first time in years, the Lone Wanderer felt fear of death. Just as he had something to live for again, it was ending.

"Time to say bye-bye," the raider said, grinning wildly. The man's smile-indeed, all his facial features-were destroyed as the report of a pistol sounded, blowing the side of the man's head out and sending him to the ground, dead. John jumped back, shocked, before turning to face his savior. Gale Campbell stood, eyes wide in shock, gripping her pistol the way he had taught her. He recognized the look on her face. It mirrored how he had felt, the first time he had killed. John covered the short distance to Gale as she lowered the weapon, still shocked at what she had done. He pulled her into his chest and embraced her, blocking her view of the dead man.

"Thank you," he whispered as he heard a sob choke out of her.

"I killed him," she whispered back.

"No. You saved me," he replied, the sounds of heavy footsteps breaking the two apart. Smith and Fawkes came into sight, Smith in the lead. His eyes fell on Gale and the pistol.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply.

"I was at the wagon, but then I got scared that John didn't have anyone to protect him. So I went after him," she replied, voice still faint.

"John doesn't need protecting. You could have-"

"She saved my life," John interjected. Now wasn't the time to make Gale feel worse. Smith's eyes went slightly wide at that.

"How did that happen?" he asked.

"Long story. Tell you later. Let's just get away from this God forsaken city first," he replied, putting his arm around Gale and leading her to the caravan. He would have time to hate himself for his sloppiness later.

* * *

**Well, this month sure got away from me. Sorry about that, guys. I'm wrapping up my degree and got super distracted by that, and had a bit of writer's block going on. Hoping to have this back on track here now; my goal is to have this completed by September 3. So a couple thoughts about this chapter:**

**I started playing Fallout 3 again and I hadn't paid attention before; but good God, the Brotherhood is condescending. Seriously, hardcore condescending, even after you retake Project Purity. They're actually kind of dicks.**

**Three-Dog...yeah, he annoys me. He really is just a propaganda jockey for the Brotherhood.**

**Anyway, thoughts, feedback, lay it on me. Thanks for reading, guys.**


	15. Life's Mysteries

_The hiss of her office door opening drew Amata's attention from the paperwork sitting on her desk. Her heart skipped a beat in shock as JJ slowly entered the room. He stopped and stared at her as the door slid shut behind him; looking ill at ease in a Vault jumpsuit. There was a moment of silence as Amata stared at him, utterly stunned, before finding her voice._

"_What're you doing here?" she whispered, still in shock. She rose from her chair as she spoke, her hand running over the hard surface of her desk as she rounded it, stopping when she was alongside it. _

"_I couldn't do it," he began, slowly walking toward her. "I couldn't leave you. I thought I could, but I was wrong. I don't want to be away from you anymore. I just want to come home and have a normal life with you. Away from the Wasteland and the fighting and everything else." It was exactly what Amata had been waiting to hear, what she had longed to hear in Megaton when she saw him. He had stopped right in front of her, well within arm's reach. Looking up into his eyes she stepped forward, putting her arms around his neck. He was close to a foot taller than her, and he leaned down toward her to make the embrace easier._

"_I don't want you to leave me again," she whispered in his ear. "Just stay here with me, marry me, have a family with me…" she trailed off, before stepping back. "I have something to tell you."_

"_What's that?" he asked, eyebrows raised._

"_I'm pregnant," she replied, the ghost of a smile crossing her face. The news looked to have hit him like a sack of bricks._

"_Pregnant?" he repeated, stunned. Before she could respond, a huge smile spread across his face, and he lifted her off the ground in his arms. She joined his laughter, caught off guard by his reaction. Finally, he set her back down. She looked again to his eyes; they were her favorite feature on him. Well…one of them. The excitement of seeing him again, coupled with his reaction to the news, made her want the other. Unabashedly, she began to unzip the front of his suit as he looked down at her, a smile playing across his face. She took it as a question._

"_I want you. Right now," Amata said, pulling the top half of the jumper down to his waist. He did nothing to resist, instead removing the t-shirt he wore underneath as Amata untied her boots, kicking them off as he started to peel off the rest of his suit; standing in front of her in only his underwear. She smiled, biting her lip as she looked at him. His hand gently unzipped her own clothes; with him leaning in to kiss her as he did. She helped him remove it, standing before him in the only pair of lingerie she had; a lace bra and thong set. He leaned forward to kiss her again, reaching down the front of her thong as he did. She let out a breathless moan of pleasure, already aroused. Before she could respond in kind he dropped to his knees, kissing her stomach and hips as he slid her thong down. Placing a firm hand on her stomach, he pressed her against the desk, before setting to work pleasing her with his mouth. She let out a moan, losing control of her normally strong sense of her surroundings. Amata's fear of someone walking in was replaced entirely by her desire for the man in front of her. She allowed herself to enjoy his efforts for several more minutes, building to a crescendo before pushing him away. JJ rocked back on his knees and looked at her, amusement playing on his face. She responded by turning around and leaning forward, over the desk, and standing on her toes. She felt his hands running over her hips; the pleasure of him entering her drawing a full-fledged scream of delight…_

Amata's eyes opened with a start, adjusting to the darkness of her quarters. _Dream. It was just a dream, _she thought, a feeling of disappointment overcoming her. She rolled onto her back, becoming aware of herself as she did. The first feeling she was aware of was lust; of a desperate longing for JJ, one that was strictly physical. That was a new sensation for her. Her desires had always been a connection of emotional and physical; strictly physical sex with someone she didn't care about held no appeal to her. She stretched out before running her hand inside the underwear she wore to bed; discovering her arousal in the dream had translated to the real world. _Well, I don't want to be distracted all day._

She showered and dressed quickly when she had finished, strapping her Pip-Boy on as she left the room and made her way to the cafeteria. With the lust suppressed, she had become aware of the ravenous hunger that had come to define her morning; ravenous hunger with a healthy mix of nausea thrown in. The morning sickness was still in full effect. She made her way quickly through the empty hallways; she had woken extremely early and the Vault was still quiet. Entering the cafeteria, she was met by the sight of Susie sitting alone, looking extremely tired as a radio played softly. She looked up as her Overseer approached, quickly shutting off the radio as Amata slid in to the seat across from her. Amata, for her part, didn't fail to notice; but decided to not begin interrogating her friend first thing in the morning.

"You're up early," Amata said. Susie grunted as she took a sip of coffee.

"So are you," she replied snarkily. If Amata didn't know Susie better she would have been taken aback. Instead, a wry smile crossed her face as she looked across the table to Susie, whose eyes were twinkling with sarcasm. "Why are you already up?" Susie continued, taking a bite of food.

"I had some weird dreams," Amata replied as she made her way to the food dispenser. Susie waited for the machine to finish whirring and Amata to begin returning to her seat before speaking.

"What were the dreams?" she asked. They had discussed the odd dreams Amata had been having since becoming pregnant before.

"JJ fucking me over the desk in my office," Amata replied in a flat voice; finding amusement as Susie's eyes went wide and she choked on her food. Susie's coughing turning into wild giggling, tears forming in her eyes as she looked at Amata. They may have been best friends, but Amata never spoke that frankly about her relationship with JJ.

"Seriously?" she asked, slightly aghast. It was Amata's turn to smile devilishly at her friend's discomfort.

"Yeah," came Amata's reply, before finally switching topics. "What was up with the radio when I came in?" A look crossed Susie's face; one that made it clear that she had been hoping to avoid the topic altogether.

"Just Three-Dog. He came on earlier; not one of his prerecorded broadcasts. It was live, and he was pissed. Apparently some of JJ's friends paid him a visit last night and told him to stop talking about him leaving; sounded like they kind of kicked his ass. So he's on the warpath now. Didn't think you'd want to hear that," Susie replied. Amata frowned in response.

"Did he say who it was specifically?" she asked. Amata still had questions about JJ's life outside the Vault; and he had been rather evasive about parts of it when she brought it up.

"Yeah. Mercenary named Reilly and her crew. She runs an outfit called Reilly's Rangers. Three-Dog started calling them Thompson's Rangers to mock her. Said they're putting their loyalty to one man ahead of the truth," Susie said. She opted to leave out the part where Three-Dog had gone on, at length, about the sexual relationship Reilly and JJ had engaged in; preferring to spare her friend's feelings. Susie didn't judge JJ for what he had done outside of the Vault, she had understood that he must have been crushed after Amata ejected him and sought comfort in whatever way he could. She was afraid Amata wouldn't understand that, though; and she refused to be the catalyst for two people she cared about deeply falling apart.

"People up there sure do like him, don't they?" Amata asked. Susie smirked in response.

"Some places. If you go up north into DC, the areas with more of a Brotherhood presence, like Rivet City? They don't care for him as much. But the outlying settlements that the Brotherhood doesn't bother with? They practically worship the ground JJ walked on," Susie replied.

"Seems like a recipe for disaster," Amata said, thinking as she ate. "Like people are taking sides. Didn't he and the Brotherhood used to work together?"

"Yeah, they did. More like he worked for them, really. Everything started going downhill after he got injured." That piqued Amata's curiosity. He had never said anything about how he had been injured.

"What happened? Was that when his knee went bad?" Amata replied. Susie shrugged in reply.

"No idea. He never told me or anyone else that I know of how he was injured." They sat in silence as they finished their breakfasts, the Vault beginning to awaken as they did. The two women walked from the cafeteria, a wave of nausea hitting Amata as they did. She clutched at her stomach and doubled over, taking a deep breath to try to calm herself. Susie leant forward in concern, placing a hand on her back as her friend waited for the nausea to pass. Amata realized, suddenly, that she was actually going to throw up. She hurriedly began making her way to the women's room, leaving Susie looking on in sympathy at her friend's discomfort. She thought she might actually be looking forward to the morning sickness passing as much as Amata was.

* * *

The sun of the Interior Desert beat down mercilessly on the weary caravan as it came to a stop. They had traveled all night, as fast as they could, in an effort to put Indianapolis behind them. The city now lay behind them, and in the safety of the barren desert they drew to their first break of the day. John's knee had been so badly aggravated by the action the night before that he had been forced to sit in the back of the wagon, with the merchandise, as they moved. Gale had rode shotgun, not speaking a word through the entirety of their flight from the city, with Smith and Fawkes on foot, eyes peeled for any more potential threats. None had materialized, and as the sun had risen their pace had slowed; Bonzo not wanting to drive the Brahmin to exhaustion. The place they had chosen to stop and rest was nondescript; it was the ruins of what would have been a gas station before the war. Smith wordlessly came to the back of the wagon as Bonzo brought the Brahmin to a halt and offered his hand to John, who gratefully accepted the help down. He had taken a double dose of Med-X, which had effectively numbed both the physical pain of his knee and the blinding anger he felt that he had been so careless and nearly been killed. The fact that he was still nearly unable to support his weight on his left leg, however, made it clear that his existing injury was not causing the pain; it had been somehow exacerbated in the commotion of the chaos.

John put his hand on Smith's shoulder, the bigger man supporting John's weight as he limped to where Bonzo and Gale had sat on the ground and begun to spread out the food they had. With a groan of pain John sank to the ground, knee stretched out in front of him as he grabbed a bottle of water and began drinking. Silence prevailed as John glanced at Gale with increasing concern. It was obvious that she was dwelling on what had happened the night before, attempting to reconcile her own feelings at having killed someone. It was Smith who spoke, surprising all.

"Stop being so hard on yourself, Gale," he began, his accent lilting musically. Gale looked up in surprise at the unprompted advice, as Smith continued. "You did the right thing. You saved a good man, your friend's, life. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

"It was awful, Smith. There was so much blood, and I didn't even think about doing it…" she trailed off, eyes staring at some point in the distance. John knew the look; and, judging by the expression on Smith's face, he was familiar with it too. She was replaying the events in her head.

"Why did you do it, Gale?" John asked encouragingly. He was calling on his training as a chaplain to, he hoped, make her see that she had done the right thing. She met his gaze as he looked at her.

"Because you're my friend. You're like…I'm the oldest in my family. And I always wished I had a big brother. You're kind of like that to me, John," she replied.

"So you did it out of love? You left the safety of the wagon, came into the darkness to find me because of love?" She blushed slightly at that.

"I guess," she replied, shifting slightly. John pressed his point home.

"You're a Christian, Gale?" She nodded in affirmation. "Do you remember the Gospel of John? 15:13: Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. You did the right thing, Gale. I'm alive because of you. I will always be grateful to you for it," he continued, smiling at her. The corner of her lips twisted up, the first sign of life they had shown all day. He knew then that he had won, his ability to persuade, to make people feel the way he felt, winning out. Smith, from the side, spoke up.

"You know, Gale, you remind me a bit of my daughter," he said. That caught both John and Gale by surprised, as their heads whipped toward the man. He smiled slightly as John spoke.

"You have kids?" he asked, totally shocked. He would not have picked Smith to be a family man. Smith snorted in laughter at the question before replying.

"Kids? I have grandkids, now," he replied, laughing at the looks of shock on John's and Gale's faces.

"How the fuck old are you, Smith?" John asked, finally voicing the question he had been wondering. The man smiled an enigmatic smile at him.

"Guess," he responded. John shrugged in frustration.

"I don't know! 50, maybe?" Smith threw his head back and let loose a peal of honest laughter at that, looking at John's frustrated face through the tears in his eyes. He responded once he had controlled his breathing again.

"50 is a memory for me, kid. I'm 60, turned it this year. I was born in 2221," he responded. That information shocked John. Smith did not look at all like he expected a 60 year old to look. He was big, easily 6'5, and still appeared to be solid muscle. He had moved with the speed of a much younger man in the fighting the night before, and his black hair was only streaked with silver, slicked back on his head and tied into a short braid. Silence passed for a moment as Gale and John absorbed the information, before Smith continued on. "My turn now. How'd you fuck your knee up so bad, kid?" John sighed. He hated the memory, and most of it was faded. But it easily ranked as one of the worst days of his life.

"Vertibird crash," he began, jaw clinching as the memories came rushing back. "Fawkes and Charon and I were in a Vertibird, flying over the DC ruins when a super-mutant with a missile launcher knocked us down. I was knocked out by the impact, when I came to my knee just didn't work anymore." Smith nodded in understanding at that.

"Vertibird, huh? Been a long time since I've seen one of those. Brotherhood flying them out East?" John ignored Smith's admission that he had seen a Vertibird before, more surprised at the man's seeming familiarity with the Brotherhood.

"Yeah. They didn't come East with them, though. They got them after the Enclave was destroyed and they occupied Adams Air Force Base," John responded. Smith nodded before turning back to his food, silence prevailing once more as the group finished their lunch. Smith helped John back to his feet once they were done, supporting him as they made their way back to the cargo area John had been sitting in. Helping him into the wagon, Smith spoke again.

"We need to get your ass back in shape, kid. You're too young to be this busted up," he said, smiling. John snorted in laughter.

"I think I have an excuse, with the shit I've done," he responded. Smith gave him a look of disapproval.

"That's not an excuse, kid. You're not the only one of your kind running around," he replied, walking forward as the wagon began rolling. John looked over to him as they moved.

"What does that mean? My kind?" he asked, not sure if he should be offended or not.

"There was another person like you once. Out west. They called him the Chosen One. Bit more badass sounding than the Lone Wanderer, if you ask me," he responded, his tone only slightly mocking. John rose to the bait.

"That's nice. He ever talk an Enclave AI into self-destructing an entire base?" Smith laughed at his question.

"No, he just nuked the fucker, if memory serves," he responded. The response surprised John as Smith looked over, finding both Gale and the Wanderer looking at him in rapt attention. "Told you you're not the only one of your kind, kid."

* * *

Emily walked alongside Achilles through the crowds around the main train station that served Shady Sands, making their way to the platform he needed to be on. The weeks that he had been in town had passed more quickly than Emily would have liked, and the time had finally arrived for him to return to the Mojave. He had said that there was important business he had to take care of around New Vegas; for her part, Emily wanted to keep Achilles as far away from the war zone as possible. The train he would be riding, bound for the Hub, was beginning to board, the conductor checking tickets as people climbed onto the refurbished passenger car. Achilles came to a halt several feet away from the train and turned to face Emily. She was doing her best to not let the sadness she felt be obvious, and not succeeding particularly well. He smiled at her, one that he hoped conveyed that he had no plan on abandoning her, before opening his arms to her. Without a word she walked into them and tightly wrapped her own arms around his waist, resting her head on his upper chest. Achilles tilted his head down and kissed her forehead, before speaking quietly in her ear.

"A month. Two, at most, and then I should be back. Ok?"

"Yeah," she replied, her voice staying strong. "Just try not to get crucified down there, alright?" He chuckled lightly at her request.

"I won't. I've done this run a hundred times before, Em. Don't worry about me," he said.

"Right. Don't worry. You may not have noticed, but I kind of like you, jackass," she responded as they broke apart, smiling at him. He smiled back at her, a smile that dripped charisma and confidence. The conductor sounding the all-aboard drew his attention, making him realize he had no more time for goodbyes.

"Alright, babe. I'll see you soon," he said, leaning forward and kissing her, a kiss full of passion and intensity. They broke apart and, with one last smile at her, he nodded and turned to the train. The conductor had just punched his ticket when Emily spoke.

"Hey, Achilles," she began; him swiveling around to face her. "I love you," she continued, smiling at him. He smiled again; that same, confident smile.

"I know," he replied. And with one last nod he pulled himself up and into the train, and out of her sight.

* * *

_I know. I know? Who the fuck says I know when someone tells you that they love you, idiot?_ Achilles ranted to himself in Latin as the train rolled steadily south, Shady Sands rapidly fading from sight. _You should have told her you loved her as well, fool. It's true, whether you like it or not._

_Is now truly the time to be dwelling on a dissolute woman? The Mojave is ready to explode. The hour of Caesar's triumph rapidly approaches, and you dwell on this. Fool. You are a frumentarius of Caesar's Legion. Act like it. _His lecture to himself refocused his mind on what he was, what his mission was. He needed to be back in the Mojave. His extended stay in the NCR had softened him; dulled his wits and his senses. He needed the thrill of combat, the feeling of armor on his body and a machete in his hand; with nothing to concern him except the best way to defeat his foe. The NCR intelligence services, to their credit, had realized the crucifixion that had occurred on his last trip to the Mojave, the one he and his men had carried out, was linked to other attacks in other parts of the NCR and its borders. They had realized that there was one man responsible, one Legionary behind them all. The newspapers in the NCR were calling him the Night Lord now. He liked the name, personally. That his enemies feared him enough to give him his own appellation let him know he was doing his job right. And perhaps Vulpes Inculta, or even Caesar himself, would notice. His face was still unknown to them; as opposed to the instantly recognizable appearance of Vulpes, an image which appeared on many propaganda posters along the front lines. Julius, his immediate subordinate, had been responsible for relaying Achilles' deeds and triumphs back to Arizona. It was Julius he was to rendezvous with, along the Long 15 on the way north to New Vegas. Once there Achilles assumed he would begin his standard modus operandi in the Mojave: innocent deliveryman by day; scouting the Mojave, listening for any intelligence that could be valuable. By night, sabotaging NCR lines, ambushing isolated NCR patrols; doing everything in his power to wreak a general sort of havoc on the NCR forces in the Mojave and demoralize their troops, many of whom had forgotten what they were even doing in the Mojave. The same could not be said for his Legion brothers. No legionary questioned, even for a moment, that their cause in the Mojave was just and that they would inevitably win out over the profligates. The thought reassured him as he shifted in his seat, leaning back before reaching into his small travelling bag and pulling a book from it. He couldn't put a feeling on what it was, but he felt uncomfortable going back into the Mojave. Something, some voice in the back of his head, told him he would never see Emily again. _Mars protects you. With his favor you shall conquer all and return. Stop worrying,_ he thought, as he began reading; hoping the distraction would see him through to the Hub.

* * *

The caravan pulled in to Kansas City in the early afternoon. The relief John felt was almost indescribable. He was running low on Med-X, and had run out of alcohol shortly after the ambush in Indianapolis, two weeks prior. The ruins of the city spread out in front of them, the caravan yards packed with merchants, traders, whores, slaves, and those there to take part in the many wares for sale. He was immediately disgusted at the sight, particularly that of the slaves being auctioned off. He had always been opposed to slavery; albeit not opposed enough to not have sold people into slavery himself. _All for a greater good,_ he reminded himself. And the access it had given him to Paradise Falls had proven useful when the time came to destroy the place, when he and Fawkes and Charon purged the Wasteland. The only good thing ever to come out of Paradise Falls, in his mind, was the woman who became the fourth member of his team during those war years, after he had managed to subdue her and reverse some of the brainwashing that had been done to her. The caravan came to a halt in the yard of the Crimson Caravan company, the largest lot there was. John slowly eased himself off the bench at the front, being helped down by Smith and Gale. He had regained his ability to walk, albeit slowly and with some difficulty; but not enough to keep up a prolonged pace with the wagon. Gale had opted to start walking and doing more to guard the caravan, after the experience in Indianapolis. John and Smith had watched with something that felt like pride as the young woman; the shy girl they had picked up in Coalseam who had never set foot in the Wastes, had begun to transform before their eyes. She began doing the exercises that Smith made John do every morning before they hit the road, her muscles growing more defined as she built her strength. In the evenings, or on longer breaks, she began to ask Smith and John to teach her more advanced shooting; and now she had grown skilled enough to be trusted to carry John's Chinese assault rifle. He had his plasma rifle handy, and he and Smith both agreed that she was not quite ready to learn about energy weapons. Smith's familiarity with the plasma rifle, though, was another oddity about the man that John couldn't bring himself to ignore. He suppressed his curiosity, just taking the little bits of information that Smith would occasionally let out in conversation.

Fawkes and Bonzo had begun unloading the caravan while Smith and Gale helped John to the ground; and with him not needing more assistance they set about helping the other two unload as John watched, hating how impotent his knee made him feel. The four pairs of hands made quick work of the cargo in back, the man who ran the Kansas City office of Crimson Caravans coming out to tally it all. Bonzo handed over the contracts that all four of the original party had signed, back in the Capital Wasteland; the ones that guaranteed their rates, in addition to a percentage of the cut from the sale of the merchandise. The office manager, with a keen eye to detail, immediately noticed that there was one person without a contract present.

"If there's no contract, I'm not paying her anything," he said, gesturing at Gale. Bonzo rolled his eyes as Smith scowled from the side, standing next to Gale.

"No shit," Bonzo began, frustrated. "She's a stray we picked up in Coalseam. She knew she wouldn't be getting paid when we set out." The man nodded his approval at that.

"Good. Let me just see how much merchandise we have here and I'll figure out what you're all due to get paid," he replied, setting about his task in silence as the wary caravaneers looked on. It took approximately 15 minutes, the man having retired inside his office after counting up the merchandise; before reappearing with multiple bags of caps.

"Here we go. Bonzo, you're due 2,000 caps for safe delivery plus value of the merchandise. Smith, 2,000 caps as well. Fawkes and Thompson; 1,500 apiece. You all have a good day," he said as he handed the caps to each man, before quickly returning to his office. John looked down at the bag in his hand, before looking over at Gale, shifting uncomfortably at being left out.

"Hey, Gale. Catch," he said, tossing the bag to her. She instinctively caught it, looking down at it before returning her eyes back to him in confusion. "They're yours. Least I can do for saving my life. You earned them," he explained, smiling at her. A smile crossed her face too, pleased at the thanks.

"These should come in handy in New Vegas," she replied, feeling the heft of the bag. Bonzo looked back at the assembled group, all waiting to come up with some sort of plan.

"Why don't we go to city center and get hotel rooms and something to eat. Later tonight we can begin talking about what route we should take to New Vegas," he said, receiving nods in response. Satisfied by the replies, he turned around and began leading his way towards the broken skyscrapers that formed the Kansas City skyline, the group trailing behind him, matching John's much slowed pace.

"God, I need a fuckin' drink," he muttered as they made their way through the dusty marketplace, the crush of people doing nothing to cool it. The auctioning block that the slaves were on passed to his right; John feeling almost physically dirty being near it. He recognized immediately the collars all the slaves wore, ones that ensured they would never run should they want to keep their heads. Smith laughed at John's admission, looking over at him.

"You're not the only one, Wanderer. That trip was too damn long," he replied as they wound their way through the streets of the largest city in the Interior Desert.

* * *

The hotel in Kansas City was not nearly as nice as the one in Coalseam, but it met their purposes. He had at least been able to get hot water to clean himself, and his face was once again clean shaven. He realized, looking in the mirror, that his skin had darkened even more from the sun of the Interior Desert; in the Capital Wasteland he had just stayed inside when the sun was at its worst for the past two and a half years or so. He also realized, not unhappily, that his body was beginning to resemble what it was when he was the Lone Wanderer, a result of the muscular conditioning that Smith was making him endure. The man's taunts as they worked out in the morning were endless, constant reminders that he, a 23 year old, was being outperformed by a 60 year old grandfather. To Smith, nothing was sacred: the legend of the Lone Wanderer, his relationship with Amata, Sarah, all were valid targets for his mockery while they exercised. It worked, though, and John was beginning to feel strong again. To save money, mostly Gale's, John had opted to get a large enough room for the both of them to stay in; their bedrooms separate parts of a much larger suite. Stepping from the shower, dressed in fresh clothes, he found Gale lounging on the couch in their common room, freshly cleaned herself. The tan she had acquired over the trip from Coalseam to K.C. had done nothing to diminish her beauty, and the muscle she had developed only made her look more mature. John realized, unexpectedly, that she reminded him in some ways of Amata. Her skin would never be the same as Amata's olive tones, but the firmness of Gale's body now rivaled Amata's; something John had always found unspeakably attractive about her. Gesturing to Gale to get up, they made their way back down to the lobby of the hotel, finding the rest of their party waiting for them. Bonzo nodded in greeting before leading the way out the door, Smith and Fawkes staying behind to walk with John and Gale.

"What's up?" John asked, gesturing at Bonzo's back. He couldn't shake the feeling that the man was upset about something.

"Eh, just bad news from home. Got some updates from other traders about the Mojave, things are going downhill for the NCR there," Smith replied. That surprised John.

"NCR's actually losing? I didn't think Bonzo would give a shit, one way or the other," he replied. Smith grunted before replying.

"You'd think, but he's from the NCR; he grew up in the Boneyard and served in the NCR Army when he was younger. He might seem like a shameless profiteer, but I think underneath it we may have an honest to God patriot on our hands," Smith replied, saying the last part loud enough for Bonzo to hear. The trader replied with a middle finger, extended over his shoulder so they could see it. The entire group burst out laughing at that. Their arrival in Kansas City, and the cooling of the city as the evening approached, had put them all in better spirits.

"What about you, Smith? You a secret patriot too?" John asked. Smith snickered derisively at that.

"Not quite. There's really only a couple things I particularly care about, kid. My family, mostly. They're number one. After that…I guess I still care about my hometown, even though I haven't seen the place in years now," he replied.

"Where is that, Smith?" Gale asked, curiously looking at him.

"It's a small town. You wouldn't have heard of it," he replied evasively. John spoke up, taking Gale's side.

"You know, that's not particularly fair, Smith. You know basically everything about me and Gale, and we don't know shit about you. I think we've known each other long enough that you can tell us where you're from, at least," he said. Smith sighed in frustration before replying.

"Arroyo. I'm from a little village called Arroyo. Haven't been back to it in years, though. I told you I live in New Reno now," he replied.

"Arroyo, huh?" John asked, getting a nod in return. "You're right. I've never heard of it." Smith laughed at that.

"Told you, no one really has," he replied. Their arrival at the restaurant Bonzo had selected ended their conversation. They filed inside and were shown to a large, round wooden table in the corner of the room. The waiter handed each of them menus before leaving. John looked at Gale to see her reaction and was not disappointed; her bewilderment mirroring his in Coalseam. Bonzo, Smith, and he all laughed as one, Gale blushing at being the focus of their amusement.

"I don't know what any of this is," she replied, frustrated; prompting another peal of laughter from the group. John looked at the menu; compared to the food in Coalseam it was bound to be a disappointing affair. Mirelurk being on the menu caught his attention, and he involuntarily grimaced at that.

"What's wrong?" Bonzo asked, noticing his face.

"Mirelurk? In the middle of a desert, thousands of bodies from any major bodies of water? That's gotta be awful by now," he replied.

"What's a Mirelurk?" Gale interjected.

"A huge, awful, mutated crab that happens to taste really good," John replied. "I'll buy you some when we get back to the Capital Wasteland, Jenny Stahl makes them pretty well," he continued. He scanned the menu, trying to find something that wouldn't be totally alien to Gale. "Your best bet on here is going to be Brahmin steak, probably," he said, looking over at her.

"Brahmin like what pulls our cart?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Kinda tastes like the steak that comes from cows back in Coalseam," he explained. She nodded in agreement as the waiter returned to take their orders. The group had almost universally decided to order Brahmin, with the exception of Fawkes, who had a predilection for ant meat. As the waiter repaired to the kitchen to place the order, Bonzo pulled out a folded up map and laid it out on the table. John realized, looking at it, that it was a map of the old Interstate Highway System; with additions made to it showing where old roads had fallen into disrepair and bypasses had been added.

"So," he began, looking at the map. "We need to figure out how to get to New Vegas. Normally, I'd suggest I-70 to Denver," he continued, gesturing at the route I-70 took across Kansas and into Colorado, "but from what I hear today, Legion is ranging further and further north. Denver was always a shithole, but with Legion along the way, it's probably a bad idea. Any of their raiding parties comes across Fawkes here, and there's guaranteed to be a fight. So, anybody got any other ideas?" Smith immediately replied.

"Take I-29 up until the Omaha bypass, pick up I-80 and take it through to New Reno. From there we can just loop through the NCR and enter the Mojave from the California side of the border," he said. "Besides, we go through New Reno and you'll have a place to stay for free."

"What's the Omaha bypass like?" John asked, seeing the route marked on the map.

"It's makeshift. Caravans created it carving out a route to avoid the Omaha crater," Bonzo replied.

"Omaha crater?" Gale asked, curious.

"Yeah, Omaha got annihilated in the war. Just a gigantic crater now; you can still find some glass in the sand around there."

"Makes sense," John replied. "Offutt AFB was the headquarters of Strategic Air Command. Figures the Chinese would throw a ton of nukes at it," he continued.

"Why is there glass in the dunes, though?" Gale queried.

"The heat from the bombs. Nuclear weaponry generates enough heat to make sand into glass," John explained.

"I never knew that," Bonzo replied, surprised. Smith interrupted the makeshift science lesson to bring them back to the topic at hand as the food arrived.

"So I-80 it is, then?" he asked, receiving nods from the group. "Ok. Looks like I'll get to see Miria sooner than I expected."

"Who's Miria?" John asked.

"My wife. Told you, I live in New Reno, my whole family does. She'll be surprised, though. I don't usually bring people home with me these days," he explained. John's hunger managed to overwhelm his curiosity about Smith, but as he dug into the Brahmin steak, he couldn't ignore the feeling that there was more to the man than he was letting on.

* * *

**So that chapter went surprisingly quickly. Just kind of got on a roll. Thanks, everyone, for your feedback so far. Hearing everyone's opinions and insights really keeps the motivation to keep going up, made it way easier to get through this chapter. That and I've got a lot of ideas coming to me these days. I'm looking to update The War Was in Color next (that's the prelude to this story, for those of you who haven't checked it out yet, it's the Wanderer in his prime); but hopefully I can eke out one more update for this one this coming month. Anyway, thoughts and feedback, lay it on me.  
**


	16. Legends

**September 5, 2281**

John looked around the sizable dance hall through eyes that were beginning to blur. They had been in Kansas City for two days; two days of trading and resupplying for Bonzo, two days of binge drinking for John. The last two weeks on the road, with no whiskey or other alcohol, had been beyond unpleasant for him. The headaches had come nearly every day, and with them had come a much shorter temper; making the trip unpleasant for all involved. Only Fawkes and Smith had truly been able to talk John down when he got into a nasty mood on the road; Gale and Bonzo having quickly lost the patience to do so. He knew, in the logical part of his brain, that he was going through withdrawal, and that if he just pushed forward it would pass and the physical need he felt to drink would be gone. That had gone by the wayside when they reached KC and he saw the abundance of bars, clubs, and other assorted dens of vice; all offering their various pleasures for low prices. He had been able to resupply on Med-X, buying enough to last the next two months until they reached New Reno. The length of the trip in front of them had come as a nasty shock when Smith had told him how long it was to his home, another 1,500 miles away.

He looked out onto the dance floor as the band played; the tune an upbeat swing song that had drawn a crowd onto the floor. He spotted Gale dancing with Smith, the older man surprisingly light on his feet despite his age and size. Gale was a skilled dancer; but John had spotted her, several times now, shooting sideways glances at him from the floor. Smith had taken her under his wing, but her looks made it clear she wanted to be dancing with John. The other looks she gave him, ones that he had picked up on several times, made it clear that she wanted to do a lot more than just dance with him. He'd be lying if he were to say he hadn't entertained the thought; particularly as the night went on and he became more drunk. The song reminded him of another time, in the summer of 2280, when he had been dancing with another girl in another place…

_The look in Lucy's eyes made it obvious she'd been waiting for a chance to be close to him for some time. Their hands were grasped together as they moved across the ground that surrounded the crater in Megaton. It was Harden Simms' birthday; and a large part of the town had come together to celebrate with him, such was the shine they had taken to the young man. Lucas had raised him well, and he was doing more to help around town. Soon he'd put on his own Regulator duster and badge and help police the area. The job had become easier in the previous year and a half, after the last of the raiders and super-mutants had disappeared from the Capital Wasteland. John had spent most of the day drinking. This party, the entire peace that had descended upon the Capital Wasteland, was the fruit of his efforts; of everything he and Fawkes and Charon and Clover had done. They had gone their separate ways after the war had ended. He knew Charon was in the ruins of Baltimore, where there was a sizable ghoul community; and Fawkes had taken to the road with a long-haul caravan, far away from the Capital Wasteland and safely out of the reach of the Brotherhood, should they decide that there would be no peace until the last two super-mutants in the Wasteland were dead. Clover had left of her own volition; using what she had learned from her travels with John to make her own way in the world. He had no idea where she had gone, but every so often a trader would bring back a story of a chem –lord found with his throat cut; or a child-slaver killed by a seemingly invisible gunman, and a smile would cross John's face, knowing that his friend was still out there. _

_John looked around at the people celebrating; a celebration not just of one young man's birthday but of the fact that they could celebrate, that they didn't have to live in fear everyday of a raider attack, or of super-mutants dragging them off to convert. And he hated it. He was bored, woke up every day feeling utterly without purpose. He had worked with the Regulators before, and knew Sonora Cruz would welcome his help, should he choose to offer it; but chasing down petty thieves or murderers, as satisfying as it was, offered him no challenge. Coupled with the injuries he had taken during the war he doubted he would even be able to bring in a fugitive alive should they choose to run rather than surrender to him. So instead he drank. The alcohol had the effect of allowing him to remember the war without feeling anything about it, allowed him to remember everything that had come to pass: his father's death, Amata's betrayal, the collapse of his relationship with Sarah and the Brotherhood; and not feel anything about any of it. And with the alcohol came an ability to forget that he was physically broken, spiritually exhausted; it allowed him to, at least momentarily, be the Lone Wanderer again. With that came confidence; and he had found no shortage of lovers since the end of his relationship with Sarah. He had never been with Lucy, though; and he knew he could have her even without the alcohol. She had wanted him ever since he had helped her brother, and he knew it. He had just opted to not take advantage of it; he had, in fact, hardly noticed the woman who had always remained in the back of his mind as a person he knew, that he'd call an acquaintance, if that. The only woman in Megaton he'd had extensive interaction with was Moira, first when they had written the survival guide; and then later, after Sarah and the war, when they became lovers. That had ended too, though; and here John stood, across from Lucy at last. Even sober he would admit that she was quite beautiful; but now, after more whiskey than he could count, he would have sworn she was the most beautiful woman he'd seen. _

_The song ended and they stood across from each other, hands still clasped together. Lucy smiled at him, and he returned it with his most winning smile. After all his travels he knew what women liked about him. He knew how to be dangerous without being menacing, his boyish smile at odds with his physical presence. A new song started, a much slower one, and John pulled Lucy closer to him. She her right arm on his back, her left holding his as they began to move in a slow circle, bodies pressed together. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear as they moved._

"_I had no idea you were such a good dancer, Lucy," he said, closer to her ear than he needed to be. She shivered slightly at the feel of his breath on her neck, smiling slightly before whispering back._

"_Can't be good without the right partner," she replied, looking into his eyes as she did; only inches separating them. He smiled slightly at her before deciding to go for it, leaning in slowly as she tilted her head forward to meet his lips…_

The end of the song snapped John back to reality, in Kansas City. He watched as Gale laughed at something Smith had said before the two of them began making their way back to where he and Bonzo and Fawkes sat. The memory of Lucy had surprised John. He had made the choice to commit himself to Amata; and here, in his drunkenness, he was beginning to regret it. Not just his commitment to Amata, but leaving the Capital Wasteland in general. _You should have just stayed. You could have stayed, and been with Lucy, and had a family with her. Lucy Thompson doesn't sound so bad, does it? And she never betrayed you… _A voice in his head whispered to him. He suppressed the thought quickly, but it nagged at the back of his mind as Gale pulled up a seat next to him. She looked at him; a look of sadness that quickly passed as she realized how drunk he was. From the other side of the table they were at Smith looked disapprovingly at him.

"How much have you had to drink, John?" he asked; his voice making it obvious that he knew it had been too much.

"Not enough yet, Smith," John replied, looking to the bartender, cleaning a glass behind the bar. "Another round over here, Logan," he called out to the man, who nodded and began pouring another double shot of whiskey for him.

"Do you think you've had enough, John?" Gale asked, concern in her voice.

"Not hardly," he began as Logan delivered the drink to him. "I can still feel things," he finished before shooting the whiskey; enjoying the warmth of it as it went down his throat and settled in his stomach. Smith just sighed, not at all happy with the answer.

"You know we have to get up early tomorrow to hit the road, right? You're going to feel like shit in the morning," he said, glaring at John. John threw his head back and laughed at that, drawing a look of consternation from the entire table. He never laughed like that.

"I feel like shit every morning, Smith. I don't see what makes it worse if I drink. Mom and Dad are still dead, I'm still broken, Amata's on the other side of the country; everyone I cared about is on the other side of the country."

"That's no excuse to get fucked up every chance you get, kid. You're not the only one who's gone through hard times," Smith replied.

"Please, Smith, tell me more about how bad everyone else has it. I'm sure they've done what I've done," John slurred out as the last shot of whiskey began to hit his system.

"You know, you're a real asshole when you drink, kid. The world doesn't give a shit about your woe-is-me story. You can either deal with it and push through it or sit here moping, but that won't bring anyone back or change anything in the past," Smith replied, giving John a hard look. Gale interjected before it could go further.

"John, why don't we get back to the room? You'll feel better if you get cleaned up and into bed," she said, hoping to defuse the situation. John looked down at the table, scowling, before acquiescing and standing up; swaying on his feet. Gale quickly put a hand on his shoulder to steady him; and he responded by putting an arm around her shoulder to help support his bad knee. With an apologetic look at their friends, she dragged him away from the table and out into the night; trying to support his weight as he staggered forward, barely able to stand.

* * *

Achilles looked down from the position he was in, surrounded by the men that had been assigned to him. He had come back to the Mojave to find that Vulpes Inculta had, in fact, taken notice of his actions throughout the Mojave and the NCR; and in reward for his efforts had been given a larger command. The men around him were no recruit legionaries; he had instead been given a squad of legionary assassins to support him in the Mojave where he saw fit. That had been how his time back in the Mojave had been spent: by day, delivering packages and listening for any sort of information that could prove to be of use on the movements of NCR troops, at night, carrying out attacks based on what he and Julius had learned. Tonight promised to be an important one. They waited along a route that he had learned a small squad of NCR Rangers would be traversing, on their way to Camp Golf. He had 7 men, including himself; all heavily armed and in much stronger armor than what low-ranking legionaries wore. They were arrayed in positions of cover on higher ground, about 50 meters away from where he intended to ambush the Rangers; his men armed with modified carbines designed for accuracy and a .50 caliber sniper rifle. He knew he need not worry about his men's competence; they would attack on his command and show no mercy to the Rangers who were approaching. It was a dark night, the Moon casting almost no light down on the desert. In the distance he could make out the shape of the Rangers approaching. He silently raised his rifle, the men around him doing the same, and trained it on one of the Rangers. He had told the legionary with the sniper rifle to aim for the lead man, hoping that the death of the man in front would momentarily surprise the Rangers, buying enough time for the rest of his _contuberia _to fire on the Rangers before the enemy could return fire and take cover. Achilles knew if he allowed the Rangers to organize a defense they would be in for a fight that they couldn't win; not when the numbers were close to equal.

Achilles placed the targeting reticle of his sights over the chest of the Ranger he had taken aim at, controlling his breathing and allowing the Rangers to come closer until he was confident that there was no chance of his men missing.

"_Ave Caesar!" _Achilles yelled, the signal to attack. The legionary with the .50 immediately fired; his round punching through the chest of the lead Ranger and dropping the man to the ground, dead from the impact of the massive round. The rest of the legionaries opened up, pouring an insane amount of fire on the Rangers, who scrambled for cover while attempting to fire back. Achilles had chosen the spot for the ambush well; the Rangers having almost no options for cover. The NCR's best fell quickly under the onslaught of the entrenched legionaries; Achilles drawing his machete and jumping from cover to close with the enemy and destroy them up close; his men following him as he raced forward. There had been five Rangers in the column, three of whom lay dead, the other two severely wounded. Achilles raced towards one of the wounded men, attempting to draw his pistol to shoot the oncoming legionary. He had just gotten the weapon out of its holster when Achilles was on him; cleaving through the man's helmet and mask with his machete and splitting his head open. From behind him he heard the other Ranger scream as his men set upon the man with their machetes, hacking him apart. There was to be no crucifixion, no sort of symbolic statement for the NCR leaders at Camp Golf when they eventually sent out search parties, after the Rangers failed to materialize. Finding a squad of their best soldiers dead and left for the Mojave to consume would be message enough; especially with the obvious machete wounds to their bodies. The mutilation of the dead was not something Achilles typically enjoyed, but he knew it would send a powerful message to the NCR. He looked down at the man he had just killed, feeling a surge of anger before swinging his machete at the man again, and then again, until he lost control and simply savaged the body; his mind screaming at the dead profligate all the while. _Why can't your people just surrender?! Just surrender and go home and end this war so I can get back to Emily! _When his anger was spent the Ranger was no longer recognizable; Achilles' armor and machete covered in blood and bone and other bodily fluids. He wiped the blade on the red tunic he wore underneath his armor before turning to his men, who awaited his orders.

"Collect their weapons and ammunition. Return them to Cottonwood Cove so they can be passed on to Arizona," he commanded. His men silently set about the task of salvaging anything usable from the dead Rangers before assembling again in front of him. They expected no praise; and Achilles would give none. No legionary would expect praise for simply doing their duty to Caesar. His men saluted him, though. Holding their fists over their hearts, they called out to him in one voice.

"_Ave domine noctis!" _they yelled. _Hail the Lord of the Night. _He couldn't help but smile in satisfaction at that.

"Dismissed," he commanded, his legionaries setting off into the darkness; Achilles setting off for where he had stored his civilian clothing. He had to change and then deliver a package to Primm the following day. The _frumentarius _hoped that the thrill of this victory would overcome the physical exhaustion he knew he would feel the following day.

* * *

Reilly looked down at her newly repainted armor, turning it over in her hands before putting it on. At first glance it appeared no different than before; it retained the same green color and the same white shamrock on the chest. Above the shamrock, though, where it had said "Reilly's Rangers" before, she had repainted it. Now it read "Thompson's Rangers," the entire company's armor did. She had opted to run with what Three-Dog had meant as an insult, renaming the company and hoping that the mention of the Wanderer's name would potentially deter the raiders from continuing to come out of their hiding. Reilly had realized soon after her visit to GNR that she had irrevocably damaged her relationship with the Brotherhood; reports from the DC ruins reporting that the water caravans were no longer coming to the areas that Reilly's company patrolled. She felt guilty about it; fearing her actions had drawn punishment for innocent people that had played no part in what she had done. Reilly knew what the Brotherhood's goal was: turn the people in her part of the DC ruins against her and her Rangers by blaming them for the loss of water. So far it hadn't worked, but Reilly feared that if the embargo continued her own people would be forced to resort to raiding, desperation overcoming the civility the Wanderer had imposed. And so she had formed her own plan to try and maintain the peace that had been won. Reilly strode out of her quarters to find her specially selected squad waiting for her.

"Let's go," she began, setting out of the compound and into the ruins. Her plan was simple: a multiple day, long range patrol, west through Canterbury Commons and then heading south into Virginia, Megaton and Arefu being her primary destinations. She hoped to convince Lucas Simms, Uncle Roe, and Evan King to side with her; to form some sort of united front to remind the Brotherhood that the Aqua Pura was meant for the entire Wasteland, not just them and Rivet City. Uncle Roe could help with the merchants; and Lucas and Evan ran the two largest settlements that were on the fringes of Brotherhood territory and had good relations with the Wanderer. Reilly knew that, essentially, if the other settlements agreed they'd be agreeing to something that resembled open opposition to the Brotherhood, a fight that none of them could hope to win. Not only were they outgunned and out-supplied, they were outnumbered and outmanned. The Brotherhood had been able to select the best of those that applied to join, Reilly being given the leftovers that had been deemed unfit by the Brotherhood. She hoped that, as long as they avoided open provocation, she could avoid inciting a full-fledged civil war in the Capital Wasteland.

* * *

Achilles left the Primm office of the Mojave Express, having completed his delivery. The town wasn't totally disagreeable, as far as the Mojave went. It hardly had the amenities of New Vegas, but it at least had accommodations for him to collapse into. His next destination was Nipton, a town he thoroughly despised; but he was not needed there for several days. Making his way to Bison Steve's, he desired only food and sleep. The tension in the Mojave was coming to a boiling point, something that was palpable in every settlement he had gone to. The tension was carrying over into every aspect of life; people frantically making preparations in fear of a Legion victory; indulging in every vice and losing any inhibitions, knowing that should the Legion win they would be no more. It disgusted Achilles to watch. Caesar brought these people unity; he brought them elevation from their superstitions and from their ignorance and offered them a way forward, the only way forward, and they refused it at best; actively resisted it at worst. In his time as a courier he had been through much of the NCR and the west in general. While New Reno still topped the list of the worst place he had been; and was a city he was eager to see laid low by the Legion, New Vegas and its surrounding areas were a close second.

He reached his room in the Bison Steve wordlessly, stripping off his dusty clothes as he made his way to the bed. Achilles fell into it and quickly fell into a dream filled sleep; one where he dreamed of a future where he held the power to shape the world as he saw fit.

* * *

Reilly and her squad reached Megaton in the early afternoon; three days after they had set out from their compound. She had explained the situation to Uncle Roe in Canterbury Commons, and he had agreed to talk to the merchants that passed through his city about carrying Aqua Pura as part of their caravans. Now she had to convince Lucas and Evan to find a way to actually secure enough Aqua Pura for the settlements that the Brotherhood was now ignoring. Lucas met them at the gate as they entered, surprised by the arrival of Reilly and her group. She hadn't radioed ahead; preferring to maintain secrecy instead of broadcasting her plans over an unsecured radio that the Brotherhood was most likely monitoring. Standing next to Lucas was a young woman in a blue and yellow jumpsuit; 101 stitched on the collar. Reilly immediately recognized it as the uniform of a resident of Vault 101. The presence of the Vault dweller came as a surprise to Reilly, but one that she immediately realized could be valuable. Vaults had a large supply of goods; clean water being one of the foremost. If she could include Vault 101 in the plans she had, there could be a legitimate chance of surviving the Brotherhood's embargo.

"What brings you to Megaton, Reilly?" Lucas asked, shaking Reilly's hand as he did.

"Was hoping to talk to you about things that are happening in DC," she began, before turning to the Vault dweller. "I'm sorry, but we haven't met. My name is Reilly," she said, extending her hand to the woman.

"Susie Mack," the young woman responded, gripping Reilly's hand.

"It's good that you're here, Susie. Could you join us? We may need your Vault's help," Reilly said. Susie nodded back at her.

"Sure. But just so you know, I'm not the Overseer. Any decision would have to be made by Amata," she replied. Reilly recognized that name; she had heard the Wanderer say it in his sleep. _So that's who he was talking about. A girl back in the Vault. _

"That's fine. Regardless of her decision, you all should know what's happening out here," Reilly said.

"Why don't we go back to my house to discuss this in private?" Lucas asked, receiving nods of agreement from the ladies. Turning, he led them back to his house to hear what Reilly had to report.

* * *

**October 13, 2281**

The caravan had been on the road for over a month, travelling across Nebraska to where they now were, in southern Wyoming. The plains spread out in all directions, rolling as far as they could see. Above them was a blue sky; one that made John understand why, before the war, this part of the country had been referred to as Big Sky Country. In the distance the Rocky Mountains rose up in front of them, the very tops of them covered in white. It was snow, John realized; something he had never seen. The nights had been growing colder the further west and north they travelled; an unfamiliar sensation for John. The Capital Wasteland was almost uniformly warm, year round; cold weather, the kind that signaled the beginning of fall and of a coming winter, was alien to him.

"We're not going to get trapped somewhere by snow, are we?" he asked no one in particular. He had gone back to being his normal self, having stocked up on alcohol as well as Med-X for the trip in Kansas City. Being able to anaesthetize himself with whiskey at night and Med-X in the morning kept him much calmer than he had been after running out of the booze on the last leg of the trip to KC.

"No," Bonzo replied. "Snows don't usually come down outside the mountains until December or January. We'll be long passed it by the time it starts to snow here." John grunted in acknowledgement. While he was sure experiencing snowfall would be an interesting experience, he had heard too many stories about pre-war explorers being trapped by blizzards and not making it out of the mountains.

"What's the weather like in New Reno?" he asked, directing his question to Smith.

"Mild, mostly. Doesn't get too cold," he replied.

"Are we going to have problems with the crime families?" he asked. Smith shook his head.

"No. They do their best to protect merchants; people that disrupt trade or tourism usually end up buried at Golgotha by one of the families," he replied. Smith had briefly touched on the presence of mob families in New Reno; organized crime being something totally new to John. The closest he had come was the Tunnel Snakes; and compared to the Bishops or Van Graffs they weren't exactly intimidating.

"Which is the most powerful family now, Smith?" Gale asked from where she walked alongside the caravan. The pain in John's knee had mostly dulled, but he was walking with a pronounced limp that made it clear he had done some sort of serious damage to it, beyond what had happened in the Vertibird crash.

"The Van Graffs and Wrights were fighting for control of the city, the last time I was there. The Bishops and Mordinos still control parts of the city, but not as much as when I was younger," he explained.

"What makes New Reno so bad, Smith?" John asked. It semed strange to him that organized crime controlled the city so heavily, and yet it was the only city he had heard of where that was the case.

"Jet, for one," the man replied.

"Jet? Like the chem?" John asked, slightly confused.

"Yeah. It was invented in New Reno back in the '40s. Kid named Myron developed it and it spread like wildfire through the city. The families control the distribution of it; and so many people are hooked on it there's no way that enough people could unite to challenge the families." John thought about that for a moment.

"It's strange how a small group of people can control so many others as long as they're united," he thought, remembering how the Brotherhood was the dominant faction back home, despite being outnumbered by Wastelanders.

"It's always been like that, kid. With a few exceptions through history, it's always been a case of the strong dominating the weak."

"So Myron made the people weak…what was in it for him, with his inventing Jet?" Smith scowled.

"Money, prostitutes, and a lab. The kid was one of the biggest pieces of shit I've ever met. My buddy John absolutely despised him. Myron ended up getting shanked by a Jet addict a year later; so I guess there was some poetic justice there. I think I'm one of the only people that even remembers he existed," Smith replied.

"Why do you remember him, Smith?" John asked.

"I have a good memory," Smith said, the evasiveness returning to his tone. John decided to drop the issue. He figured at most he'd wait till New Reno and then find out what Smith's actual background was. The caravan fell silent as they continued rolling along the road, the west sprawling out in front of them.

* * *

The first thing Achilles became aware of was his head throbbing. Without even touching it he could feel that a huge bump had been raised on the back of his head by some sort of blow, one he couldn't remember. He had been walking from Primm to New Vegas; on his way to deliver something that appeared to be a worthless trinket to the New Vegas strip.

"_Standard paperwork here," the man behind the Mojave Express counter had said as he pulled out the small parcel. "I need you to sign on this line to take possession of the package." Achilles looked down the list, his name being on the sixth line. He signed quickly before handing it back to the man. "Next is a standard contract; you're responsible for delivery to New Vegas, any loss or theft and the damages will be incurred by you. Do you have a next of kin you want notified if something should happen to you?" he asked, sliding the paperwork toward Achilles. He pondered for a second before filling it out; the first time he had ever listed a next of kin. _

_Emily McPherson, C/O Followers of the Apocalypse, Shady Sands, NCR; he had written in the box. He slid it back across the counter to the man, who had replied by handing Achilles his parcel. Without a further word Achilles had left the office and set out, heading south to New Vegas…_

He opened his eyes, the world blurry at first before coming into focus. He realized he was lying on his side. He moved his hands to push himself up; before coming to the sickening realization that they were bound. He could tell by a quick feel that his feet were also bound. He twisted and pulled with his hands, desperately trying to break the bonds. From off to his side he heard a voice speaking.

"You got what you were after, so pay up!" a man's voice said, in the rough cadences of a tribal.

"You're cryin' in the rain, pally," came the response, in a much smoother, more educated sounding voice.

"Hm. Guess who's waking up over here," came another voice, as Achilles desperately started twisting at the bonds on his hands. Giving up, he looked up while pushing himself up to his knees to face his captors. He found three men standing in front of him; two who were obviously tribals-Achilles recognized them as Great Khans by their armor and haircuts, and a third man, one wearing a checkered suit and languidly smoking a cigarette. The man rested his eyes on Achilles for a moment before sighing heavily and stamping his cigarette out.

"Time to cash out," he said, turning to face Achilles as he did.

"Will you get it over with?" one of the Khans said; the man in the checkered suit holding a hand up to silence him.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink. Dig?" he replied, hardly taking his eyes off Achilles while he spoke. The legionary's anger flared as the man calmly looked at him. _Mars, protect me and release me from my captivity, and I will offer you all of their lives as a sacrifice, _the prayer flashed through Achilles head as he pulled again at his bonds, his rage impotent against the knots that bound him. The man reached inside the jacket of his suit and Achilles felt a knot form in his stomach, realizing that the man would likely draw a pistol. He was surprised when the man only pulled out the small, platinum chip that had been his package, and held it up in front of him; speaking while he did.

"You've made your last delivery, kid," the man said, his smooth voice almost apologetic. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene," he continued, reaching back in his jacket and this time producing a handgun; one that was obviously custom made. Achilles' anger flashed again, his desperation to be released causing him to mentally plead with Mars to protect him. "From where you're kneeling, it must seem like an 18-karat run of bad luck," he said, holding his pistol at his side. The man raised it and pointed it straight at Achilles' head, before continuing. "Truth is, the game was rigged from the start," he finished. _I will kill you. By the grace of Mars and all the furies I will survive this and I will hunt you down and-_

A flash of light came from the barrel of the man's pistol; the last thing that Achilles, _frumentarius _of Caesar's Legion, saw. And then his world went black.

* * *

**November 2281**

John realized as they pulled into New Reno that Smith had not been lying. The city sprawled out in front of them, the largest one that he had seen. It also immediately gave off a feeling of despair; of people hopelessly caught in the same cycle of addiction and debt and vice. He had no idea how Smith had lived in the city for so long. Bonzo guided the caravan to the lots by memory, the area guarded by members of the Bishop family. Smith had assured them that their goods could stay with the wagon; no one willing to risk alienating merchants by stealing from them. The Bishops, for their part, had brutally disposed of those that had tried in the past. Slowly climbing down from the wagon, John fell in alongside Smith and Gale, painfully limping as the group of five made their way to Smith's house. The sky was cloudy, and the sounds from the bars and brothels around them made it clear that the cloudy evening would do nothing to stop the people of New Reno from enjoying their vices. Gale looked particularly uncomfortable, with men outside the brothels leering at her disgustingly. The look on their faces when they saw her alongside Smith, though, made the men cast their eyes elsewhere; their faces betraying something akin to terror. It was a face John recognized, having drawn similar reactions during his time as the Lone Wanderer. They made their way unmolested through Bishop territory until they reached a home that could more closely be described as a palace, with two guards posted at the front gate. They jumped when they saw Smith.

"Sir! We had not been expecting you home so soon," they said, the gate swinging open as they did. Smith smiled at the men and walked through the gates towards the entrance to the house; a large, white building that looked like it would have fit in Imperial Rome.

"This is your home, Smith?" John asked, jaw agape as he looked around the meticulously maintained property.

"It is. Had it for close to 40 years now," he replied as they entered the double doors at the front of the house. A woman's voice called out from some distant part of the building.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Smith called back. The sound of feet moving quickly began and an older woman appeared; her hair a fiery red with streaks of gray appearing in it.

"Yudhajit! What're you doing back so soon?" she asked, striding forward to meet Smith. He leaned forward to kiss the woman before replying.

"We couldn't take the route through Denver, not with Fawkes here," he replied, gesturing at where Fawkes stood. Miria smiled quickly, eyes on Fawkes, before taking in the rest of the group. Her eyes paused on John momentarily, causing him to shift uncomfortably where he stood. Without breaking eye contact with him she spoke to her husband.

"He's you. The way you were 40 years ago, when we were young." Smith nodded at that.

"I know. He's the one we heard of, the one from the Capital," he began, before looking at John. "John, this is my wife, Miria," he continued. John nodded and extended his hand to the woman, who took it.

"What does that mean, that I'm him?" John asked, confused. Miria looked at him quizzically before turning to her husband.

"You never told him, did you?" Smith shook his head.

"No. I wanted to observe first before saying anything," he replied.

"Observe what, Smith?" John asked. Miria laughed at his question.

"His name isn't Smith, John. It's Yudhajit. Come in and sit down, it's time you were filled in on everything," she replied, turning to lead the group into the dining room. Smith and John remained in the foyer, the confusion on the younger man's face obvious.

"What's going on here…Yudhajit?" he asked, trying out the unfamiliar name.

"I was like you, once. A long time ago. That is what Miria meant," he replied, John beginning to process what Smith had said. He suddenly remembered the story that Smith had told him over two months before, outside of Indianapolis. Miria walked back into the hall, laughing at the look of realization forming on John's face.

"Finally put it together, huh?" John nodded in response.

"You're him, aren't you? The one that you told me the story about." Smith smiled at him, pleased by his realization.

"Yes. I was born as Yudhajit in the village of Arroyo, 60 years ago. When I was 20 I passed my trials and was given a quest by my mother, the village elder. A quest and a new name, the same way you were." John nodded before Miria spoke, finishing Smith's story.

"The Chosen One. When I met my husband that was what people called him," she finished. "Now come sit down at the table, and we can talk."

* * *

**I have been waiting to do this chapter since I started writing this story. So damn, it was fun to write. Thoughts, feedback, lay it on me. I know I just covered a huge amount of time in this chapter; but fear not, we'll be going back to visit Amata and the Capital Wasteland in the next chapter. **


	17. The Catalyst

The group had assembled around the large, circular table in the dining room of Smith…Yudhajit's house in New Reno. The room was large enough to accommodate the group of weary travelers as well as Smith's family. At the other end of the table, talking to Gale, Miria sat; and directly across from John was Smith. His children had not yet arrived, but Miria had said they would be there as they were almost every night for dinner. Smith had filled John in on his own story, his own travels and the legend that had begun to spring up around him in his youth.

"So how did you and Miria meet, then?" John asked, drawing the attention of the older woman when she heard her name. Miria looked down the table at Smith, a twinkle in her eye as she smiled at the memory. Smith laughed lightly as he remembered.

"Oh, that's a good story. Miria is from a town named Modoc. Anyway, I swung through there when I was traveling, and met her. Back then, she was…" he trailed off, looking for a polite way to say what his wife had been like.

"I wasn't particularly selective about who I got in bed with," Miria finished, laughing. Smith smiled at her before continuing.

"One thing led to another, and we ended up in bed. Before I could leave, her dad came busting in the room. I couldn't talk my way out of what we had been doing or come up with an excuse. Next thing I knew, she and I were hitched," Smith explained. Bonzo laughed, having heard the story before; while Gale looked horrified at the thought. John turned to look at Bonzo before speaking.

"And you think my love life is fucked up?" he asked, drawing a round of laughter from the table. Miria continued the story as the laughter died down.

"Those first years were rough. I wouldn't even say we particularly liked each other as people, outside of each other's bodies," she explained. John laughed, understanding how that one went. "But we stuck together. We pushed through things, came to understand each other as people. I had our first son, Davin, when we were living in Arroyo. My husband was the village elder then, and he was only 24. We stayed there for a couple years, but eventually the restlessness hit and we moved on, to New Reno," Miria continued.

"Why would you raise a family in this town?" John asked, baffled. He wouldn't raise his children in New Reno if it was the only town left on Earth, from what he had seen.

"I could stay in touch with the world from here," Smith began. "I had contacts here, I had a reputation here; so it was easy enough for me to be in a position to protect my family and give them a good life. And New Reno is way less isolated than Arroyo is. I could still hear what was going on out in the Wasteland, keep an eye on things. I had explained everything to Miria, how I knew I wasn't the first of my kind; and I always hoped that somewhere, someone else like me would appear. It took long enough, but eventually the traders started talking about some kid from a Vault out in the D.C. ruins," he continued, smiling at John as he did.

"The first of your kind?" John asked, still slightly confused by Smith's take on what they were.

"The first was my grandfather, a man named Albert Cole. He was from a Vault; Vault 13. I'll let you read his memoirs sometime. I think you'll find you two have a lot in common," Smith explained. John's eyebrows went up at that.

"What makes you say that?" he asked. Smith just smiled enigmatically in return.

"You'll see when you read it," he replied.

"Did you have some sort of plan to try and find me?" John asked, pressing forward with his line of questioning. Smith looked over at Miria, who was smiling at them.

"Yes. Remember, John; I've had 40 years to think about things, to think about what we are. I could only come to the conclusion that somehow, we've become something else, something connected to humanity while not entirely men ourselves. We'd hardly be the first. Look at history-Alexander the Great conquered the known world by the time he was 33. Genghis Khan brought everything he crossed under his control. There have always been exceptional people that appear from time to time," Smith replied. "When I knew there was another person like me out there, I took it upon myself to try and find them. I thought that maybe, even though I'm old now, I could serve as a sort of mentor. Try to teach what I've learned through all my years and travels; give someone still in their prime the advantages that come with what I've learned." John nodded at his answer.

"I know the feeling. About being different. I see it in the faces of almost everyone I talk to when they look at me; like they're looking at some sort of deity. It's a strange feeling to hear that I'm not alone, to meet someone who doesn't think I'm some sort of…supernatural creature." Smith nodded back in understanding.

"It is strange. You'll feel even less alone when you read my grandfather's memoirs. Before we go further, though, I have to ask you something: why did you come west?" John pondered for a second.

"To learn. Fawkes told me about the NCR and the Legion fighting over the Mojave. I did the math; I read the books Fawkes brought back. The NCR is expanding, fast. They have a larger population, they have a standing army; they have a society, a real one that's moving forward and rebuilding. The Brotherhood, in all the time I worked with them, never told me about the NCR. So I decided that, besides coming west to get my knee fixed," he said, looking down to his damaged joint as he did, "I wanted to see how it happened. I wanted to know why society could rebuild in the west and not back in the Capital Wasteland. Why do my people scrape out a living, if that, while the NCR provides its citizens with the resources they need to survive?"

"So you came west to learn how to build a state?" Smith asked, smiling. John shrugged his shoulders ambivalently before replying.

"I guess so, yeah. I want more for my people than basic subsistence. I want the chance to bring a family into this world and have it be a better place than what I found," he said. Miria and Smith both replied with knowing nods and smiles.

"That's what every parent wants, John," Miria said. Smith looked at his wife, a look of affection clear on his face, before he turned back to John.

"You and I feel the same way, John. Tell me you haven't felt that feeling, when you look around at the world. Like a burning inside of you, something telling you that it doesn't have to be like this," Smith said.

"Yeah. I know that feeling," John admitted. "I guess I just kind of chose to ignore it, after the war and my injuries. After everything that happened during those years I thought I deserved to just be left alone," he continued.

"I will help you with this mission of yours, John. But understand going into it that there is no turning back. I made the mistake of walking away from Arroyo after it had rebuilt and stabilized. If you do this, you can never lose focus," Smith replied. John thought about it for a second. He knew he operated best when he had a clearly defined goal in front of him. That was the problem he had encountered after peace descended on the Capital Wasteland-he had no more goal, no more enemies to fight. It had led him to feeling rudderless.

"I can do that, I think. Especially if I have help," he said, smiling across the table at Smith. A moment's silence passed before Smith spoke again.

"Did you ever have one enemy that came to define you, John? One, above all others, that pushed you to the limits?" John paused for a moment to think before answering.

"No, not really. It was more situations than any one thing or person. What about you?" Smith smiled grimly before replying.

"Yeah. There was one…"

_Yudhajit entered the huge chamber, the room lit only by dim lighting. Behind him he could hear Sergeant Granite's squad of Enclave soldiers moving into position, attempting to find what little cover they could in the mostly empty room. Next to him stood John Cassidy; and at the other end of the room, visible through the darkness, stood a massive figure. Yudhajit felt a twist in his stomach. He had seen that figure before; once in person and twice in security footage. He had torn a Brotherhood of Steel soldier in half, torn the head off of a Deathclaw without a fight. Yudhajit put his hand on Cassidy's chest, stopping the man in his tracks. He knew he had to go forward alone. He made his way across the floor; paying no attention to the intricately detailed carving under his feet. The…thing, the abomination, turned to face him as he approached; and spoke in a voice that was as hypnotizing as it was terrifying._

"_You've gotten a lot farther than you should have; but then you haven't met Frank Horrigan, either. Your ride's over, mutie. Time to die." Yudhajit's mind raced as the power armored monstrosity spoke. Stall for time, he thought to himself, slowly making his way toward a computer terminal that he saw on the opposite side of the room. He held a faint glimmer of hope that the terminal would let him activate the defense turrets in the room._

"_Huh? Frank who?" he responded, hoping to keep Horrigan talking._

"_Me, Frank Horrigan, that's who. United States Secret Service. You aren't going anywhere from here." Yudhajit continued to slowly inch his way toward the computer terminal as he thought of a response; the sound of Horrigan's voice dulling his wit. He knew, instinctively, that there was no way to negotiate or barter some sort of deal, the way he had with Granite's men. Even they, Enclave the same as Horrigan, had said that the being Yudhajit now looked at was a freak. He was distantly aware, at the same time, that somewhere below levels his friend Marcus was evacuating the Vault 13 dwellers and his fellow tribesmen from Arroyo. And in less than nine minutes the Oil Rig's reactor would melt down, destroying the entire facility. Fuck it, he thought. Time to end this._

"_I'm not going anywhere 'till I stomp your ugly mug out of existence," he replied. Horrigan responded only by bringing up the massive weapon he had at his side. From behind him, the Enclave troopers opened up on Horrigan; Yudhajit dashing to the computer console as they did. Cassidy added his own fire to the mix, their rounds futilely slamming off Horrigan's power armor. He had seen Horrigan laugh off plasma rifle fire in the security footage from the Brotherhood of Steel bunker; he knew the beast was capable of taking insane amounts of damage. Yudhajit reached the computer terminal and frantically began scrolling through his options, the death scream of one of the Enclave troopers ringing out as Horrigan's weapon cut him down. He found the option he was looking for on the terminal and selected it, the turrets coming to life and spewing fire at Horrigan as Yudhajit brought up his own weapon; a CZ57 Avenger minigun and opened fire on Horrigan. The huge being stumbled back, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of heavy weapons fire coming his way; fracturing his armor at last and allowing rounds to impact the heavily muscled, modified body underneath. A last burst from Yudhajit's minigun sawed Horrigan in half, the turrets falling silent as he collapsed, his legs separated from his torso. Yudhajit moved forward slowly, his minigun still held at the ready, horror forming in his mind as Horrigan dragged his torso forward with his arms, looking up at Yudhajit all the while. _

"_You…you haven't won here," the thing said, coughing up blood as it did. "You and your mutie-bastard friends are gonna join me in a big ol' mushroom cloud sendoff. I just triggered the self-destruct," it continued, laughing as it spoke before the laughter became agonized coughing. "The work will go on. You didn't do nothing here, 'cept seal your own death warrants. Duty…honor…courage…Semper Fi," it said with its dying breath, before finally breathing its last breath and collapsing to the floor in front of Yudhajit._

There was a moment of silence as Smith finished telling the story. Even Fawkes betrayed some surprise at hearing it.

"Jesus. What was this Horrigan guy, anyway?" John asked, not able to imagine an enemy as deadly as the one Smith had just described.

"He had been an Enclave soldier, part of President Richardson's protective detail. He got exposed to the FEV and they brought him back to experiment on him, turned him into their ultimate weapon. 12 feet tall, in a custom suit of power armor that made him even stronger than he already was. I suppose technically he was a super mutant, but he didn't see himself as one."

"You managed to get Enclave soldiers to help you take him down?" John asked, incredulous at that part of the story. Smith nodded back at him.

"I did. Something I've learned, over time, is that most people just want to survive. They'll go along to get along. The Enclave might have some seriously fucked up goals, and there are true believers, like Horrigan; but most of them are just ordinary people who've been brought up to believe that the Enclave is right. If you can get through to them, like I did, they'll listen to reason," he replied. "Speaking of which, why don't you come upstairs with me while we wait for the kids to show up? I have some things to show you."

* * *

Amata zipped up her jumpsuit; a special variant designed for expectant mothers that Elliot had given to her at the end of her first trimester, as she began to become visibly pregnant. The suit didn't hug her form to the extent that a standard Vault suit did, but it was far more comfortable as her body changed with the pregnancy. The remainder of the first trimester had gone normally, and eventually the morning sickness and the mood swings had passed and she had begun to feel like herself again. A much more ungainly, awkward version of herself that ate more than she ever had in her life. The changes in her body had only been exceeded by the changes taking hold of the Capital Wasteland in the passing weeks. Susie had come back from Megaton with a message from a woman named Reilly; the one that had assaulted Three-Dog in his studio. The mercenary captain was organizing something of a resistance, attempting to make sure clean water kept flowing to the outlying settlements of the Capital Wasteland that the Brotherhood of Steel had stopped protecting. The whole situation struck Amata as strange; the fault lines immediately obvious as she analyzed the situation. On one side, it was people that were loyal to _her _JJ; people that he had either saved or protected or who otherwise had bought into the legend that Three-Dog had built around the Wanderer, before everything had fallen apart between him and the Brotherhood. The other side of the picture was those loyal to the Brotherhood and Elder Lyons; Rivet City and the interior settlements that had sprung up in the DC ruins after peace had descended and it had become a safe place to be. These were the people that thought that Elder Lyons and his knights offered a greater chance of stability for the future; that their greater numbers alone, coupled with their technological abilities, made them the best long-term bet for the Wasteland being rebuilt. Amata was forced to concede that the areas under Brotherhood control, where their patrols were frequent, were remarkably peaceful. The Brotherhood dispensed a harsh but fair justice; and they had helped settle people in the DC ruins now that the situation there had stabilized.

The entire situation had put Amata into an awkward position. She was the Overseer of Vault 101, and her first responsibility was always to her people. And yet the whole reason she and her friends had revolted against her father was to take part in the affairs of the outside world. When Susie had relayed Reilly's message to Amata, she immediately recognized the difficult position it would put her in. Taking this active a role in the affairs of the Wasteland, especially when it involved the Brotherhood, would immediately make Vault 101 a subject of interest; and despite their semi-engagement with the world she preferred that the Vault keep a low profile. The other side of her, though; the less rational side that went off instinct and feelings, knew she had to take JJ's side. She was carrying his child; he was the only person that she had ever loved outside of her family. Amata knew that if anyone was to carry on his legacy and attempt to preserve what he had done for the Wasteland, it had to be her. And so there she found herself; turning to leave her quarters and make her way to the Vault entrance, where Susie would be waiting for her. Amata had decided that for a meeting of the importance of the one that would be held today, she would attend in person. She had only briefly set foot outside the Vault since she had learned of her pregnancy, not willing to do anything to risk the life of her child, but today had to be an exception. More than just her own desires were on the line now; and in the two months since Reilly had talked to Susie and Lucas Simms, Amata had become one of the most influential figures in the southern wastes. Fully prepared for the day, Amata made her way through the halls of the Vault to the entrance chamber, finding Susie and Officer Gomez waiting for her.

"Morning, Overseer," Gomez said, his voice as polite as ever. He was the most even-tempered of the Vault's guards; he had taken JJ under his wing when he was a boy and taught him to defend himself from the Vault bullies. Amata smiled back at him.

"Morning Gomez, Susie. Has our escort arrived yet?" she replied. Susie had told Amata that she would have a larger guard to travel to Megaton, where the meeting was being held; a group of mercenaries coming up from the south agreeing to meet the Vault 101 delegation and walk them to Megaton. Amata had felt apprehensive at working with strangers, but Susie had assured her that the group that would be escorting them was one of the most dependable mercenary companies in the Wasteland, known for getting the job done.

"They just arrived," Susie replied. "Just saw them on the CCTV. They're nothing if not punctual," she chirped, her excitement at the day's happenings obvious. Amata nodded her approval.

"Very well. Open the Vault," she commanded, Gomez immediately responding by walking to the Vault control panel and sliding the lever to open the door. The klaxon began blaring; a yellow light flashing as the clamp latched onto the door and pulled it into the Vault, before sliding it aside. Outside the door stood a group of five men; clad in black combat armor with a white claw emblazoned on the chest. They stood a bit straighter as Amata and her companions approached; with the Overseer not failing to notice the surprised glances several of the men shot at her abdomen. Apparently Susie had kept her secret exceedingly well.

"Good morning," Amata began, extending her hand to the man who had stepped forward. "I'm Amata Almodovar, Overseer of Vault 101." The man clasped it, nodding to her in reply.

"Jackson Clancy, Talon Company. Heard a lot about you, Overseer," he said, releasing her hand. She raised an eyebrow at his response.

"All good, I hope?" she asked. He chuckled.

"Most of it was from the Lone Wanderer. And it was all good. You ready to head to Megaton?" he replied. She nodded.

"Let's hit the road," she replied, setting off towards the exit of the cave that housed 101.

* * *

Emily had just made it back to her room from a class she taught on Pre-War American Government when Julie Moore and Dan Parker slowly entered the room. One look at Julie's face was enough to tell Emily that something was wrong. Her face betrayed that she was distraught; and Emily immediately began connecting the dots in her mind. _Cassandra. Something must have happened to her cousin in the Mojave…but then why is Dan here? _

"What's up?" Emily asked, turning in her chair to look at her friends. Julie started to open her mouth before closing it again, at a loss for words. Finally, she spoke.

"We got…we got bad news from the Mojave today, Em," she replied. Emily's heart sank at that, her suspicion being confirmed. _Legion must have gotten Cassandra, somehow. Poor lady. Poor Julie. _

"Is it Cassandra? I'm so sorry, Julie," she replied, rising from her chair and walking toward her friend. Julie shook her head violently, denying Emily's response.

"No. It's not Cassandra. It's…" she began, trailing off. Julie was always an empathetic person; and if it wasn't Cassandra, Emily realized, it had to be for her. A sickening feeling began to form in her stomach as Dan Parker spoke.

"We got a telegram today, sent up from the Mojave Express office in the Hub. It's…there's no way to say this easily, Em," he began. Emily began to tense, as if bracing herself for a blow.

"Say what, Dan?"

"It's Achilles, Emily. He was attacked while making a delivery to New Vegas. Robbed outside of Goodsprings," he replied. Emily had stopped breathing, waiting for Dan to tell her. She realized he hadn't said anything about Achilles' condition.

"Where is he? How badly hurt is he?" she demanded, needing to hear the answer for herself. Dan sighed heavily, his heart breaking at having to tell his understudy the bad news.

"The assailants shot him, Emily. He's gone. I'm…I'm so sorry," he began, hastily rushing forward as Emily's knees buckled slightly when he told her. She leaned forward into his arms, resting on his shoulder while she absorbed the news. _Gone. He's gone. Somebody robbed him and murdered him for no good reason, _she thought, anger and denial and a heartbreak that was bottomless welling up inside of her. And with no better way to express herself, Emily did something she hadn't done in years. She cried; leaning her head into Dan's shoulder as Julie embraced her from the other side, muffled sobs coming out as her world crashed down around her.

* * *

Sarah sat in the Great Hall, every company commander in the chapter present to listen to the briefing her father was preparing to give. Sarah knew it had to be about the raider attacks occurring in the western ruins and the incident with Reilly's Rangers, but beyond that her father had not told her what would be happening. The assembly rose to their feet as the Elder entered the room, Scribe Rothchild close behind him.

"Please, my brothers, be seated," the Elder said, extending his arms in the traditional greeting he gave to groups. The room was filled momentarily with the racket of chairs sliding out and then being pulled back in before an expectant silence fell, all eyes on the Elder.

"The time has come for us to begin to set the Wasteland right. As I am sure you have all heard, there are reports of raiders attacking the Western ruins, in the area that used to be patrolled by the mercenary Reilly and her company. Our alliance had been one born out of necessity, and with our chapter once again at full strength, it is no longer needed. We now have the manpower and the resources to patrol the entirety of the D.C. ruins; and I intend to do just that. We will begin rebuilding this city, guiding its recovery until the people here can govern themselves. But first, we must win the support of the population and end the ridiculous cult of personality that surrounds John Thompson. To that end, Scribe Rothchild will prepare you on how to conduct these patrols," the Elder said, before looking to Rothchild, who stepped forward.

"I know that dealing with ordinary Wastelanders; those with no education, no military training, and no goals outside surviving the day, can be difficult. But when you take your knights and paladins on patrol, you must treat these people with respect. Respect that the areas you patrol are their homes, respect them as people; even if you do not on a personal level. In the past our attitude towards outsiders has cost us support that could have been valuable. Your patrols will be divided into two categories: presence and combat. Combat patrols are exactly what you all know how to do: go out, find the enemy, kill the enemy. The presence patrols will be where your knights will face greater difficulty. Those will call for social interactions with local leaders; attempting to convince the residents of the Wasteland that joining with us is the best way forward. The more the people feel comfortable with us, the more apt they are to join with us and give us intelligence that could be valuable. Each presence patrol will also be carrying shipments of Aqua Pura, another gesture of goodwill that you're going to need to win these people over," Rothchild explained, the room hanging on to his every word. Sarah could see looks of discontent on the faces of some of her peers. While the combat patrols were expected, just a part of the job; these presence patrols, ones that required them to interact with the locals, would be difficult.

"We'll be making full use of our available resources. Vertibirds will insert the patrols directly into their areas of operations. The Vertibirds will also be able to airlift a far greater amount of water to these people, meaning a much reduced reliance on water caravans. Sentinel Lyons," the Elder said, gesturing at his daughter as he did, "will be the ground commander when you are in the ruins. The Lyons' Pride will set up a forward operating base in the western ruins for our Vertibirds to land at and for your patrols to return to for resupply and rest. The Pride will also be in reserve as a quick-reaction force, should you need it. Are there any questions?" Owyn finished, looking at the faces of his assembled commanders. A hand went up from the back of the room, from Star-Paladin Cross.

"When do we begin, Elder?" she asked. A smile crossed the face of Elder Lyons as he looked at his old friend. It was good to know that after all the years, they were still with him. And finally, his dream of putting the Wasteland right was coming to fruition.

"Beginning of next week. Enough time for each of you to brief the men under your command and run through the necessary drills to prepare. Anything else?" There were no hands raised; a feeling of increasing excitement filling the room. There had been a palpable sense of stagnation in the Brotherhood in the time since the war had ended; the feeling of having a new mission was reinvigorating to those assembled to hear the Elder speak.

"Very well," Elder Lyons said. "You are all dismissed. Brief the knights under your command. And may Steel be with you all."

"And with you," the assembly replied, Sarah's voice loudest of all.

* * *

John looked at Smith's storage room, eyes wide in shock. He had a room similar to this at his house in Megaton, one he had built to house his armor and various weapons, as well as other items he didn't want readily available or visible to visitors. Smith's, however, was a magnitude greater than his. It was much larger, and the variety of weapons and armor that the man had collected over the years was staggering. The centerpiece of the room stood at the opposite end, resting on a support structure. Jet black with shade of gray mixed in, a helmet with eyes that were distinctly insectoid. It was immediately obvious as Enclave armor, but of a make John had never seen before. Throughout the rest of the room lay other sets of armor; John recognizing a set of T-51b armor with Brotherhood markings on it, and next to it lay the minigun Smith had spoken of when relaying the story of his final confrontation with Frank Horrigan.

"This is…impressive," he said, an appreciative tone in his voice. Smith chuckled from where he stood, behind John.

"Thanks. I've had a lot of time to collect it all," he replied. John's eyes still rested on the Enclave armor, reminding him of his own set of Hellfire armor that was back in Megaton.

"I've never seen Enclave armor like that," John began. "What kind is it?"

"That's Advanced Power Armor, Mark II. It was an experimental prototype that was being developed by the Enclave out on their Oil Rig, before it was destroyed. I picked it up when I was there and brought it back with me. It was too good to pass up," Smith explained. John grunted in acknowledgement, appreciating Smith's pragmatism.

"What makes it so advanced?" he asked in reply to Smith's explanation.

"It's a lot lighter than normal power armor. It's made almost entirely out of ceramics and advanced composites, kinds that I can't even describe. There's no metal in it, like in the T-51b armor," Smith said. John contemplated that, his thoughts turning back to something he had long thought-that somewhere, the Enclave had to have infrastructure, factories and research facilities, to be producing advanced tech like the armor or Vertibirds. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that if he and his companions could find it, they could use it to do wonders for the Wasteland.

"Where'd you get the Brotherhood armor?" John asked, deciding to take advantage of Smith's sudden openness. The Chosen One smiled as he looked at John.

"I was a member, too. An honorary one, of course. Allfather forbid that an outsider, a tribal one, become an actual member of the Brotherhood. But they inducted me after I stole the blueprints for the Vertibird from the Enclave and delivered it to them. Got the power armor from them," Smith explained.

"So they got you to be their lackey, too?" John asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Smith crossed his arms over his chest and, leaning against the doorframe, shrugged.

"I don't know that I'd say lackey. When I first met the Brotherhood I thought they had to be the way forward. Their knightly orders, their education, their fighting ability…it was everything I was taught to value and respect when I was growing up. And for a long time they made good allies. But eventually I reached a point where I realized there was nothing more they could offer me. And the way they just expected my loyalty, instead of doing anything to earn it, grated on me. Still, it didn't end as badly as it sounds like your time with them did," he replied. John grimaced at the thought.

Yeah. Mine was…pretty bad," he replied. Smith raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, as if urging him forward. "It was part personal and part professional. The attitude the Brotherhood treated me with, after everything I had done…I went into Project Purity to activate the thing, thinking I would die. I destroyed the Enclave's land crawler. And after all that they still treated me like I wasn't equal to them. They were more than happy to use my skills, to turn me and my companions loose on whatever needed to be destroyed, though. And I guess in the end I just got tired of it. I got tired of Elder Lyons, or Rothchild, or even Sarah, at the end, telling me how I should do things."

"So you mean after everything you did, you had a chip on your shoulder?" Smith asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. John thought for a moment on that, before finally reaching the realization that the man was right. Here, in private, with a man who had accomplished feats that were at least the equal to his own, he could admit to his mistakes.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you could say that. I was proud. God, was I proud, Smith," John began, looking at the bigger man, who nodded his head; encouraging John to continue. "After everything that had happened, I thought I was invincible. I was 20, I had destroyed the Enclave, destroyed Vault 87, cleared out Evergreen Mills and Paradise Falls. So yeah, it went to my head. I had begun to buy into my own legend, I had forgotten my faith. And then the Vertibird crash happened," the Wanderer explained.

"And how did that change things?" Smith asked.

"Personally? It was like a shock to the system. Suddenly I wasn't invincible. My knee was ruined, I had been shot multiple times and nearly died. And then the Brotherhood wasn't even who bailed me out. It was Reilly and the fucking Talon Company," he explained; before Smith cut him off.

"Who are the Talon Company?" he asked.

"They're the largest mercenary group in the Wasteland, and they're brutal. Brutal, and ruthless; but they're not stupid. They saw the writing on the wall after Paradise Falls; most of them, at least. After Clover assassinated Jabsco, it allowed new leadership to take charge. When they heard the distress call I broadcast from the Vertibird, they responded. They arrived just in time, too. Like I said back outside Indianapolis, I was with Charon and Fawkes, and nearly all our ammo was spent. I couldn't stand because of my knee and then the blood loss from the gunfire; Charon's legs had been broken and he was lapsing in and out of consciousness because he had been hit too. If it had gone hand to hand Fawkes was the only one that would have been combat effective, and eventually he would have been overwhelmed."

"Did the Brotherhood say why they didn't send in a rescue mission?" Smith asked.

"The response over the radio was that they couldn't risk another bird going down. I guess eventually Sarah broke through with the Pride to the crash site; recovered the bodies of the pilots and crew chief and destroyed the wreckage. By that time I was in Underworld, being operated on. That was always their explanation; that they were coming in on foot because they couldn't risk another Vertibird being shot down. There was always a part of me that thought that Lyons was holding back a rescue mission as a convenient excuse to get me and the others out of the way. The war was winding down by then; and I always suspected that they wanted me out of the picture," John explained. Smith couldn't help snickering at that.

"Wanted you out of the way? Think you might be giving yourself a bit too much credit there?" he asked. John couldn't help but blush slightly in embarrassment, like a chastised child.

"It was just a thought," he mumbled.

"Look, kid. You're good. I'm sure you were better before you were injured. Hell, I remember how I was when I was your age too. I thought I could take on anything. But you seriously think a whole chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel would need a convenient accident to get rid of you? If they wanted to kill you, you'd have been dead. No matter how good either of us are, eventually numbers will win out," Smith explained. John nodded, recognizing the truth in Smith's words. It was strange for him, having someone that he felt could truly understand what he had gone through; stranger still to be able to admit, out loud and for the first time, his own role in the end of the alliance with the Brotherhood. Before John could speak, Smith continued. "You know, after you get your knee worked on, when we're in the NCR, you might think about talking to the Followers about some help with the Med-X and drinking as well. If you're really intent on trying to make a unified state out east, you have to be at your best. You can't do that when you're hooked on Med-X and an alcoholic." John sighed, wanting only to avoid that topic altogether. Secretly, he had known for some time that he needed to get some sort of help for his addictions. They had served as his way of forgetting things; the loss of Amata and his father most prominently, and by the time she had returned to his life he had become physically addicted, not just mentally. Sensing John's discomfort, Smith changed the topic.

"Come on, why don't we get back downstairs? It sounds like the kids have arrived," he said, slapping John on the shoulder before heading back down the stairs. He limped down after the man, the sound of laughter and talking echoing up the stairway from the dining room.

* * *

Lucas Simms met Amata and her group inside the gate to Megaton. Smiling widely at the group, he extended his hand to Amata first, giving it a firm shake before turning to Clancy, the Talon Company leader.

"Overseer. Commander. Good to see both of you," he began. "Everyone's assembling in the common room, you're the last group to arrive," he continued, turning to lead them to where the meeting was.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Amata replied. She prided herself on punctuality and being a polite guest; she hated being late to anything.

"Don't even mention it. Evan King only got here a couple minutes ago, so we haven't been waiting long," he said. They entered the common room, Amata's eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim room. As they did she realized all eyes were on her and her group. Again, more than one was looking at her abdomen.

"This is the last of us. Quick introduction before we get started. For those of you that don't know, this is Commander Jackson Clancy, head of the Talon Company; and this is Overseer Amata Almodovar, Vault 101. Amata, Jackson; these are Evan King, Uncle Roe, and Reilly," Lucas said, gesturing to each name as he said them. Amata had met none of them before, but Reilly's face showed a hint of recognition at seeing her. Amata walked over to an empty seat, Susie and Gomez beside her, and together they took their places. Lucas remained standing, addressing the group.

"So we know why we're all here. Brotherhood's stopped bringing the water to all of our towns, and we've been relying on Vault 101's purification system to keep us afloat, so to speak. That and these raider attacks that have been happening, and we've got to do something. So let's hear it. Who's got some idea on how we move forward?" There was a moment of silence before Clancy spoke up.

"Look, I don't really do politics or anything like that, but I say we take the fight to these raiders. My boys haven't had a good dust up in a while, they'd be ready to go."

"You remember how long it took the Wanderer to hunt them all down though? You could be walking into an endless fight. And there wouldn't be any money in it for your men," Roe responded.

"We'd take water. We haven't got shit out at the fort. If we could get resupplied on a regular basis with Aqua Pura, that'd be a start," Clancy replied. Reilly finally lost her restraint, voicing all their doubts.

"Seriously, Clancy? You guys were the most violent group of mercs in the Wastes for years and suddenly you're going to take water as payment? Bullshit," she said; King and Roe nodding nervously in agreement.

"Look, I know we don't got the best rep, but we're part of the Wasteland too. And everyone already thinks we're the bad guys. No one's going to cry if some Talon Company boys die fighting raiders, and no one's going to be surprised if we do some bad things to the raiders we find," he replied. Reilly still looked uncomfortable with the idea, before King voiced his own idea.

"What about the Regulators, Lucas? Could you get Cruz to help patrol the ruins where Reilly's people are? The extra people could make a difference," he said. Lucas nodded thoughtfully at the question.

"I could, I suppose. I dunno if Sonora's gonna go for it, but I'll talk to her." Amata listened quietly, having nothing to add to a conversation she could barely keep up with. Lucas continued to the next topic. "Now, we have to figure out how we're going to handle the Brotherhood. Sooner or later word's gonna get back to them that we're purifying and running our own water. What'd we do about that?" It was again Clancy who spoke.

"We could talk to the Outcasts, down at Independence. They might be willing to…" he was interrupted by the sound of Reilly's raucous laughter, the Talon Company leader falling silent to look at her. When she controlled her laughter, she spoke.

"The Outcasts? Really? They might not like Lyons, but they think most Wastelanders are barely a step up from Mole Rats. What makes you think they'd help us?" Amata finally saw an opening and spoke.

"Give them something they want. What's important to them?" she asked, not having heard much about the group.

"Technology," Simms replied. "They broke off from Lyons' group because they didn't believe in getting involved with the affairs of the Wasteland." Amata nodded at his answer.

"That's easy enough, then. We offer them tech if they'll come down on our side if there's war with the Brotherhood," she replied. Reilly couldn't help but snicker at her response.

"Really? That easy, huh? And what tech are we going to give them, exactly?" Amata looked the older woman in the eye, refusing to back down from the challenge.

"Vaults have all sorts of technology in them," she responded simply, drawing a murmur from the room. Reilly never broke eye contact with Amata.

"And you're just going to give them access to your Vault out of the goodness of your heart?" she asked sarcastically. Amata shook her head in response.

"No. But I have access to a full listing of the Vaults in the area, and I know one that's still pristine and has advanced technologies in it."

"Which Vault is that, Overseer?" Simms asked.

"Vault 112. I'll offer them Vault 112 if they'll give us military aid."

* * *

Smith's dining room became quite crowded after the arrival of his children. The oldest, Davin, had brought his own family with him, an infant girl bouncing on his knee as they sat around and conversed. The feeling in the room was one that John had always longed for; one of belonging and acceptance. It had always just been him and his father, Amata being the only person outside his family he had been able to count on when he was a child. Once he had become the Lone Wanderer, he had become something that others didn't think had human emotional needs. That had always disheartened him, on some level. It was, he realized in retrospect, why he had made such a hard break from his Lone Wanderer persona after the war had ended. Next to him sat Gale, who had been shooting him looks of concern as he had quietly sat through dinner, making polite conversation but otherwise quiet. It was the reverse of how she had seen John interact in social settings before. In every city they had been to he would end up as the life of the party, comfortably talking to anyone and everyone about a variety of topics. She could sense that there was something different about him tonight, after he had gone upstairs with Smith. The first hint had been when he opted to drink Nuka-Cola, instead of some sort of liquor.

"Are you ok, John?" she asked, leaning over to whisper it in his ear. He shot her a look and a quick smile before nodding.

"Yeah. Just thinking about things," he responded.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked, hoping he would finally open up to her.

"Nah. I'm fine. Just had a bit of a heart to heart with Smith and it has me thinking about stuff now," he replied, before killing his cola and falling back into silence. Gale sat back in her seat, silently frustrated. She felt like she had grown close to him over the time they had been on the road, but he still kept her at arm's length. John quietly excused himself before pushing back from the table and walking away. A moment later she heard the door that led into the backyard of the house open and shut. Miria shared a glance with Smith from where she sat, before nodding at him. Wordlessly, he stood up and followed John out into the yard. Miria looked at Gale as Smith left, smiling at the girl.

"You're hot for him, huh?" she asked. Gale blushed furiously at Miria's terminology, as well as her ability to pick up on it. After taking a moment to cool her embarrassment, Gale responded.

"I guess, yeah. I like him a lot," she responded. Miria nodded at her.

"I know how that goes. There's something magnetic about them. Yudhajit was the same way when we were young. I was just…drawn to him, in a way I couldn't explain. Yours, though…yours is a lost one. I don't want to be a dream killer, Gale, but you should prepare yourself for the idea that he may never come around. He seems pretty committed to the idea of his girl back in D.C.," she said. Gale frowned at that.

"I don't know why. She hurt him, I can tell. I heard the stories from the traders. They say he went back down into that Vault and then she kicked him out after he helped her take it over," she responded.

"Maybe you should ask him for yourself, sometime. Maybe he'd finally open up about it," Miria said, smiling at Gale one last time before turning her attention back to her grandchild.

* * *

The meeting in Megaton finally concluded for the day; with many ideas discussed and none firmly decided on. The only consensus that had been reached is that the Talon Company would increase the amount of water they delivered to Vault 101 for purification, in return for a larger share of the purified water that was produced. The group made their way down to the Brass Lantern to eat dinner; Amata noticing a young, fairly attractive blonde standing behind the counter, eyes darting from Amata's face to her abdomen, her cheeks flushed. The woman wordlessly threw the towel she had been wiping the counter with down before storming inside the building, drawing a bewildered look from Amata.

"Shit…" Lucas muttered under his breath, realizing that Lucy had realized exactly who the father of Amata's child was. A moment later the blonde returned from the inside of the building and stalked across the crater, eyes locked forward as she crossed and began making her way up the walkways. With no explanation forthcoming from anyone, Amata pushed the incident from her mind and followed the group inside, sitting down around a table that had been set up for the large group. It was a welcome relief to the group to be able to discuss something besides business. Sitting around the table, Reilly looked to Amata and finally voiced the question that was on everyone's mind.

"What dog do you have in this fight, Overseer? Why get involved in anything when your Vault has been closed for so long?" she asked. Amata smiled at her.

"I feel like I owe it to JJ…" she began, before Reilly cut her off.

"Who's JJ?" Amata sighed, forgetting that outside the Vault no one knew his nickname.

"John. It was his nickname growing up," she explained.

"How'd he get that?" Simms asked. He felt like he knew the kid pretty well, but he had never heard about a nickname.

"His middle name begins with a J too," she replied; continuing with her original point before she could be interrupted again. "He came back and helped us, helped me, when I asked for it. And then I let him down. I know I did, and I've regretted it for three years. And now that he's gone and everything he worked to do is falling apart, I feel like I can show him how sorry I am that I hurt him," she replied. There was a moment of silence as the others took a moment to think about that; the first time they thought of the Lone Wanderer as something more than a superhuman killing-machine.

"What's your due date?" Reilly asked, changing topic as Jenny Stahl began delivering their food to the table. A look of discomfort crossed Jenny's face, one that Amata noticed. Ignoring it as well, she thanked Jenny as she brought her her food, before responding to Reilly.

"April 15th," she replied.

"Is John the father?" Lucas asked, taking a bite of his food as he did. Amata nodded at him as she chewed, waiting to finish before speaking.

"Yeah. Happened right before he left," she said, drawing some murmurs of sympathy from the group.

"That's some shitty luck," Clancy said. She laughed at his blunt response.

"Yeah, you could say that. I'll live, though. He'll be in for a surprise when he gets back," she said, drawing some laughter from the group as she began to relax around them.

* * *

The raider stumbled forward, frantically running from the phantom that had just slaughtered his friends. They had been sitting around a fire, passing around the Jet and Psycho, when Meag's head came flying off. None of them had seen what had done it, and before any of them could react, two more of them had died, falling to the ground with blood spurting everywhere. He had booked it, turning and running into the night as his last remaining friend screamed at him, spraying the room briefly with his 10-mil before being cut down as well. The raider slowed as he began to run out of breath, looking around in an attempt to figure out where he was. With no warning, his legs gave out from under him. He looked down to see he had been shot, blood pouring from both. There had been no gunshot, though.

"What the fuck?!" he yelled to no one in particular. "What the fuck are you? What'd you want?" he screamed as he rolled on the ground, unable to move. From the distance he thought he saw some sort of shadow move, almost impossible to spot in the darkness and with as quietly as it moved. The shadow came closer before becoming visible; a lithe figure holding what looked like a suppressed rifle, a sword strapped across its back. He could tell, looking at the figure of the suit, that a woman wore it; the black, skintight suit showing ample curves that he otherwise would have commented on. "What are you?!" he repeated, frantic. From behind the golden faceplate of the suit came the sound of muffled laughter.

"And I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying come and see," the woman's voice replied, low and sultry. She strode forward slowly, confidently; slinging her rifle and drawing the sword off her back. "And I saw, and behold a white horse: and she that sat on him had a bow, and a crown was given unto her: and she went forth conquering, and to conquer."

"What the fuck?!" he demanded, her words making no sense. He was met by more laughter.

"Sorry, sugar. It's nothing personal. Just you and your friends are fucking up all the work that Lover and me and the freak and the zombie did. It's just business," she replied. The raider opened his mouth to respond; but before he could, she had swung her sword around and skewered him through the heart with it, blood pouring out of the man's mouth as he quickly died. The figure looked down at the dead raider, a feeling of frustration creeping up in her. She was the only one left. Lover and the freak had gone west, the radio said; and the zombie was in Baltimore. Pulling back the hood of the stealth suit that the Wanderer had given her, Clover felt the wind run through her hair; allowing herself to absorb the atmosphere of the Capital Wasteland for the first time in over two years.

* * *

**So that is the longest chapter of the story thus far. Thanks for all the feedback, guys. It was really great and I appreciate it; and your thoughts and comments have been great in reminding me of areas I should elaborate on and further explain. Anyrate, I'm actually posting this from the Denver airport, I have a 5 hour layover and decided I'd wrap this chapter up. In exciting news, I'm from D.C. and am heading back there for a while; so as of tonight I'll be back in the Capital Wasteland! **

**Also, on that note, a comment about geography: the map of the Capital Wasteland that's given in Fallout 3 is inverted. It's been turned on it's side, actually-in reality Megaton would be in the south, Oasis would be the far west (depending on scale that would be in the far western part of Montgomery County, MD), and the DC ruins would be in the upper part of the map. So I'm using real world directions for where everything would be; apologies for any confusion that may cause. Anyway, any comments or questions, lay them on me! Thanks for reading!**


	18. Reflections

**November 11, 2281**

_None could stand in my way. I had a mission. I had a goal. I had a really large gun. _John burst out laughing at that line, looking up to see Smith watching him, an amused expression on his face.

"Which part did you get to?" he asked, a wry grin on his weathered face.

"The really large gun part," John replied. "Your grandfather had a sense of humor, at least." Smith chuckled at that, remembering the line well himself.

"One can relate, having done what we have," Smith replied, his accent making the words sound far more exotic than they were. "Keep reading, though," Smith continued, nodding down at the memoir John still held in his hands. The Wanderer, still chuckling, looked back down at the text that sat in his lap and resumed reading the account of Albert Cole. From the start John had seen the similarities between himself and Smith's grandfather; both were Vault Dwellers, both had a pet named Dogmeat, which had come as something of a surprise to John. It was as he read to the bottom of the page that he realized that he and Albert Cole had far more in common than just their childhoods or their adventures.

_I was not treated to a hero's welcome when I returned to Vault 13. The Overseer met me outside the massive Vault door, and told me point blank that while my services to the Vault will always be remembered, he could no longer trust me or what I had become. He said something along the lines that I had saved the Vault, and now I must leave. Bastard._

John's blood ran cold reading that line; his stomach twisting into a knot as he remembered that day, in December of 2277; the day that Amata told him he had to leave for good after she became Overseer. His face twisted involuntarily at the memory, the feelings of anguish and betrayal that he felt that morning when she had escorted him out of the Vault washing over him. Smith, for his part, noticed his young friend's apparent distress.

"Like I said, you're not alone at all, John. You ok?" he asked, concern in his voice as he saw the distant look in John's eyes; a look that made it clear that his mind, at least, had gone back to that day. Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he looked up at Smith.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad memory. Everything I've been through and one of the worst is still the day Amata said I had to leave the Vault," he replied. Smith nodded at him in understanding.

"I can imagine. It's where you grew up, just like my grandfather. You seemed to be able to forgive her for doing it. He never did." John just nodded, the look of pain fading from his face as he forced himself to concentrate on the present; the here and now of where he was: in Smith's house, in New Reno. He was thousands of miles from Amata, and close to four years removed from his final ejection from the Vault. She had made it clear to him when she came to Megaton that she regretted asking him to leave; and for his part he had forgiven Amata long before she had ever asked for it.

"It's just strange. You'd think I'd hate her, hate that place. It's a huge world, bigger than I ever could have imagined in the Vault; and if I had stayed there I'd never have seen any of it, never done anything worthwhile. But that place still feels like home. And I could never stay mad at Amata. Even when we were kids and we'd fight, I couldn't stay mad at her," John replied.

"It makes sense, in a way. You've been out of the Vault for what, four years now? Four out of 23 years above ground. 19 years is a long time to stay somewhere, kid. Damn long time. And when it's what you know, what you're raised with…it's naturally going to be what you compare everything else to. Why Amata, though? From what you've said it sounds like you could've had any girl you wanted back there. You had a pretty good deal going with that Lucy girl. Why bail on all that as soon as Amata showed up at your door?" Smith asked.

"Like I said, I just couldn't hold a grudge. Amata is just…Amata. When I'm with her I don't feel so alone. When I'm with her, I feel like everything will end up alright. She's the only person I've felt that way with. She's like a counterbalance to my personality. I always tended to get emotional really quickly, and Amata always kept her head about her. And then we have 19 years of history together. Every class, together. Every birthday, together. Every fight I got into, every achievement either of us had growing up; we were together for it. When I first came out of the Vault and was stumbling around the Wasteland, she was never far from my thoughts. I would go to sleep every night and wonder what she was doing, if she was ok, if she missed me as much as I missed her," John explained, trying to put into words feelings that went too deep for him to explain. For all his gifts of speech, talk like this exceeded even his abilities. Frustrated, he just shrugged his shoulders and looked plaintively at Smith, as if begging him to understand. The Chosen One simply nodded at him.

"She's a part of you," Smith replied. John nodded in agreement; Smith's words summing it up perfectly. Seeing John's agreement, Smith continued. "So why be so ambivalent about things? I'm not an idiot, John. I pay attention when you get drunk and start talking; I can tell that you're questioning the commitment you made. But when you talk about her you light up. It's one of the only things I've ever seen you light up about." John processed what Smith had just said before responding.

"She is part of me. She has been since before I can remember. And when we were kids, growing up together…I used to be that excited, that passionate about everything. I still was, right up until that day. God, that's part of why it hurt so bad when she kicked me out," John replied, going back to his memories. "It was December, and I had just watched my dad die. After we made it to the Citadel and met up with the Brotherhood, I left. Went back up to Megaton and just collapsed in my room, lost. The whole reason I had even left the Vault was gone. And then my Pip-Boy picked up a radio transmission. Vault 101's emergency signal. I listened to it and it was like all my prayers were being answered, Smith. I thought finally I'd be able to go home and just have my normal life back," he continued.

"Obviously it didn't quite work out that way," Smith replied, smiling slightly. John quietly laughed at that response.

"Yeah, you could say that. And after that…shit, I thought I was lost after my dad died. I was really lost after I had to leave the Vault. Everything I had ever loved was gone. I felt like I didn't have a reason to live anymore. It took some time but I focused on revenge as a starting point. If I couldn't save my dad or be with Amata I'd just let every one of my enemies feel my hate, starting with the Enclave. That was how Sarah and I got close, over the war with the Enclave. I guess in retrospect that's part of why we didn't work out; it wasn't exactly a healthy way to start a relationship," John explained. The room fell silent as John processed his memories, Smith hanging back to let him do so. Finally, after what seemed to be a long time, Smith spoke.

"You want to go watch the fights with me tonight?" he asked. John perked up at that.

"The fights?"

"Yeah, boxing. Heavyweight championship is the main event tonight," Smith explained.

"Live boxing? They have that here?" John asked, surprised. He had learned to box in the Vault; Officer Gomez had been his coach and he had developed John into an effective competitor. The competition in the Vault had been lacking; but John always enjoyed watching old holotapes of classic fights with his coach while Gomez explained what the fighters were doing. Smith, for his part, laughed at John's question.

"Yeah, I used to do it myself. I usually get sat up in the front rows, I'm friends with enough people here to get good seats," Smith replied. John smiled at him, excited at the opportunity. It was yet another thing they had in New Reno that they didn't in the Capital Wasteland. The closest thing they had to a sport in the Capital had typically been sprinting away from a Mirelurk or Deathclaw.

"Sure, I'm down. I used to box too," John said, smiling at Smith.

"Great, let me just get changed and we'll drive over," Smith replied, standing to walk to the bedroom he shared with Miria.

"Drive?" John called after him, confused.

"Yeah, in my Highwayman," Smith replied; the answer flooring John. _He has a functional car?! How?_

"You mean the Highwayman model of car?" John asked, still incredulous.

"Yeah, I have one. Don't get to drive it much anymore, but I figured it'd be easier on your knee than walking over," Smith replied, walking back in the room. His attire caught John by surprise. He was used to seeing the big man in a duster over some form of combat armor; dust from the road covering all of it. Tonight, though, Smith was in something that looked like a clean, well-tailored Pre-War suit; a black jacket and pants set off by a white button-up shirt, left open at the collar. Seeing the look of surprise on John's face, Smith laughed before explaining the choice of clothes.

"If we're going to be sitting in the VIP section, I figure I may as well look the part. Besides, I hardly get to wear this thing anymore. I'd let you wear one of my spares, but I don't think we're the same size…" That much was obvious to John; Smith having at least four inches and 40 pounds on him. Laughing at that understatement and nodding his agreement, John painfully rose from his seat before limping behind Smith to where his ride waited.

* * *

Clover sat in the darkness of the ruined building, the only light coming from a small fire she had built in the middle of the room. In her hands she held her dinner; a can of pork and beans. Nearby sat all the supplies she had brought back with her to the Capital Wasteland; the Perforator rifle freshly cleaned and the shocksword that the Wanderer had given her wiped clean and polished following her massacre of the raiders. It had been a long return to this place for her. She had wandered since the end of the war, trying to piece together the fragments of a life she only partially remembered; the one she had lived before the raiders had captured her and sold her into slavery, before the slavers had reconditioned her to the point of forgetting most of her past. They had made her something she hated; they had made her a whore, made her weak and dependent on someone else. That had ended when the Wanderer and his companions had overrun Paradise Falls. Clover had been the only survivor; something about her had stayed the Wanderer's hand, stopped him from killing her and instead set him to trying to fix her. At first she did exactly what she had been programmed to do, transferring her devotion to the man who she was told owned her; but over time, as he and the group of Treeminders in Oasis had systematically deprogrammed her, their relationship had changed. She had become the fourth member of his team; with him telling her that she would become Conquest, the first of the Horsemen. As he had rebuilt her, after her deprogramming, she became something to him Fawkes and Charon could not be. She became his sin-eater; doing things that even he could not bring himself to morally justify, and his final weapon, a failsafe should he and the others be killed during the war. She had been in Virginia when she heard a trader say that the Wanderer had left with the freak, Fawkes; and she had begun a steady return, making her way back to D.C. to be the failsafe that Lover had asked her to be.

The Capital Wasteland was on the verge of exploding, Clover knew; she didn't know how anyone with half a brain couldn't see it coming. The raiders were coming out to play again, and the group she had killed had been an excellent way to reintroduce herself to the scum of the Capital Wasteland. During the war, while her three other teammates had been out fighting the "Good Fight", as that ridiculous DJ said, she had been lurking in the shadows; doing unspeakable things to raiders and anyone else who would disrupt the peace they were trying to build in the Capital Wasteland. She aimed to do the same now; the raiders she had left butchered in the streets providing a grim reminder to any others that would see it that someone was still watching them. The second part of her mission would be the more complicated, Clover realized. When Lover had reprogrammed her, made her into his failsafe, he had told her she would always have to protect the people, even if he was gone. She had listened to GNR's broadcasts, and as she had she compiled a list of people that she would need to either destroy or protect. _Reilly. Protect, Lover always liked her. Three-Dog, may need to assassinate; trying to stir people up. Brotherhood, disrupt if they begin trying to seize control. Vault 101…protect, always protect; _the thought flashed through her mind, overwhelming her conscious thought processes. Clover, as a person, couldn't give a shit less about Vault 101; she couldn't care less about most things. But when she had been rebuilt into something resembling a functioning person, the Wanderer had told her that 101 had to be protected; if he was ever gone she had to always watch it for him. She had no say in the matter, really; she had no idea how the brainwashing the Slavers had put her through had been reversed, but when it had been broken down the Wanderer had taken the opportunity to insert his own form of suggestion into her subconscious.

Realizing her dinner was gone, Clover set the can down and scooted across the floor of the room to her equipment. There was a hint of chill in the November air, and she grabbed a thin wool blanket and laid it next to the fire to lay on top of. She had learned from the Wanderer to constantly keep moving when she was out conducting her own discrete operations; this would be the only night she spent in this building before moving on to another location. She had booby trapped the stairs leading up to the second floor, ensuring that if someone knew her position they would not be able to reach her without waking her; and she had always been a light sleeper to begin with. Just as she was drifting off, a sound in the distance drew her back to consciousness; awaking her with a feeling of anxiety in her stomach, a metallic taste forming in her mouth as her fight hormones kicked into gear. She recognized the sound. _Vertibird rotors. Brotherhood, here. Do they know? How? _

_No time to ask questions, honey. Time to go away and let Conquest come out to play._

_Just let me back out when you're done, ok?_

_Have I ever not, sugar? _

As she rolled off the blanket and began pulling the stealth suit on, Clover allowed herself to slip away and let the other side of her personality, the Horseman called Conquest, come out. Pulling the hood up over her head, she activated the stealth field on the suit, allowing the shadows to consume her as she sheathed her sword and grabbed her rifle. The Vertibirds were approaching, heading west from the Citadel. She scanned the sky, the strobe lights of the aircraft coming into view as they quickly approached. _That's a lot of birds, _she thought, taking a quick count of the number of lights she could see. It was a larger number than she had ever seen flying in the same place before. Whatever was happening, the Brotherhood was doing something big. On some level, Conquest hoped they were trying to seize control of the Wasteland. The raiders were no challenge to her; and she had never been a fan of Sarah Lyons to begin with, not since she had been sleeping with Lover back during the war. From a distant corner of her mind, Clover watched with something resembling horror. Her alternate personality, Conquest, the one she let out when it was time to do the fighting, embraced bloodshed, relished in the chaos and the madness of combat; but Clover, the deprogrammed slave that controlled her body day-to-day, had come to hate the violence and the killing. And from the corner of her mind that she watched from, impotent after surrendering control of her body, Clover realized that there was the potential for quite a lot of bloodshed very soon.

* * *

The delegates who had answered Reilly's call sat once again in the Brass Lantern after concluding their negotiations for the day; having reached something resembling a consensus on how to proceed. After listening to Lucas and Jackson speak about the Brotherhood's military capability, Amata had decided, after consulting with Susie and Gomez, to fully commit Vault 101's resources. She was, as her JJ had said when he used to play cards in the Vault, all in. She had decided that, in addition to increasing the amount of water they purified for the settlements that had assembled in Megaton, she would open Vault 101 as a Wasteland hospital, as it were. The Vault was far and away the best supplied member of this ad-hoc alliance that was springing up; and Elliot was by far the most competent medic available to any of them. The looks of shock on the faces of all of her counterparts from the other settlements had quickly passed to gratitude as they listened to what Amata had said. Any injured mercenary from Talon Company; any seriously ill or injured resident of Megaton that Doc Church couldn't treat alone-all would be welcome at Vault 101 for treatment; albeit with certain conditions attached. Amata's principle responsibility was still the safety of her residents, and as such her offer had come with the condition that all visitors would surrender their weapons in the entrance chamber of the Vault. She had met no argument from the others, and the day had rapidly concluded after that. Amata realized, looking back on it, how much the others had been hoping for the Vault's assistance. While they were not at all a valuable contribution as combatants, their resources and security were second to none. Coupled with Amata's natural talent for administration and something resembling an organized alliance had begun to emerge amongst the settlements in opposition to the Brotherhood. Amata found herself sitting across from Reilly, yet again; with Susie and Gomez sitting next to her. The others-Evan King, Uncle Roe, Lucas, and Jackson Clancy, filled out the rest of the seats; all except Amata partaking in celebratory drinks. Amata, well aware of the effects alcohol could have on her child, had opted to stick with purified water. The sounds of the large group talking filled the small interior of the Brass Lantern, the noise amplified by the sheet metal walls of the structure. After their food had arrived, Lucas stood from his seat; the assembly falling quiet as he looked at each of them.

"I want to thank y'all for making your way here. I know it wasn't an easy trip for a lot of you. A lot of us were strangers before we came here, and I'm glad that leaving here I can say that I'd call each of you friend any day. I know none of us want a fight with the Brotherhood, and we're all hoping that they come around and keep the water flowing. But it's good to know that if they don't, we're gonna be alright. So I've got two toasts for us tonight," he said, smiling in the direction of Amata and Clancy as he spoke. "First, to our new friends from 101 and Talon Company. I used to wonder how someone as tough as the Wanderer could have come from a Vault, but after hearing you talk, Overseer, I can see that he had to grow tough to keep up with you," he continued, the assembly laughing at that; drawing a slight blush from Amata as Susie and Gomez clapped their hands in approval. "So with that, here's to Vault 101. Welcome to the world!" Lucas said, raising his glass.

"101!" the rest of the assembly replied, raising their glasses in return before taking a drink. After they had all set their glasses back down, they looked back to Lucas, who now had his eyes on Clancy.

"Commander Clancy, I know that the Regulators, and me especially, never saw eye-to-eye with Talon Company back when Jabsco was in charge. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that back in those days, we all kind of hoped the Wanderer would wipe the Talon Company out. But I can see now that I was wrong to judge y'all so harshly. It's good to have you on our side; and I'd be proud to stand alongside any Talon Company man that's in a fight. So here's to the Talon Company!" Lucas said, raising his drink again.

"Talon Company!" the group responded; a satisfied looking smile on Jackson's face. When the commotion once again died down, Lucas took in the group one more time.

"I know y'all are probably tired of the sound of my voice right now, but I've got one more thing, and then I promise I'll shut the hell up," he began, drawing a laugh from the group. "Almost all of us here have had to fight for our lives at some point. Just the way of the Wastes, until the kid changed all that. I know none of us want a return to those days. So I guess this one isn't so much a toast as it is a hope. But here's to peace-let's hope we can keep it around," he finished, the group raising their drinks with his.

"To peace," they intoned, a somber atmosphere falling over the group as they remembered what had drawn them all there in the first place. Amata looked around at the group, seeing in their faces the various motivations of the delegates. For Evan King and Uncle Roe, it was a dedication to their settlements. Lucas Simms; an idea of a better Wasteland. Reilly's face betrayed the look of someone with a debt left unpaid. And on the face of Clancy and the Talon Company men, it was a look of an organization redeemed; a name cleared of a black mark it had long held. Amata looked over to her fellow Vault dwellers, seeing her own feelings reflected on their faces-loyalty. It was loyalty to a memory; not just to that of their friend, but to the memory of his father. James Thompson had been a figure that they had all respected. They all knew, perhaps better than any others in the room, that the only reason that JJ had gone out into the Wastes and done what he had was because of how his father had raised him. As she began eating her last dinner in Megaton, Amata's thoughts turned not only to JJ, as they did most every night; but to his father, a man who had always treated her with compassion and respect. She offered up a silent thank you to him; as well as a hope that somewhere he could see the impact his life and work had made on the Wasteland, and of how the boy he had raised in the Vault had grown into a figure for others to rally around.

* * *

The Tactical Operations Center in the Citadel was humming with energy; the bustling of scribes and knights coming and going mixing with the radio traffic coming in from the field to create an atmosphere of palpable electricity. Elder Lyons and Scribe Rothchild took it in, each managing their anxiety about the massive operation they had just launched in their own ways. Rothchild had taken to pacing, turning over the possibilities in his head as his subordinates hustled around him; relaying messages and moving markers on their map of the western ruins. The first wave of Vertibirds was on their way back to the Citadel to load up with more troops before returning to where the first wave had inserted and was now establishing a secure presence. The reports from the field were coming in clear; Sarah having been the first person out of the birds and onto the ground. She had rapidly taken command of the situation, setting those under her command on their respective sectors to clear them of any possible threats while the detachment of engineers that had flown in with them began establishing a command post on the ground. Elder Lyons, for his part, felt more comfortable as the minutes passed and no reports came in of any troops being in contact; he knew that the most dangerous moments of any operation of this sort tended to be when security hadn't been established and the Vertibirds were unprotected. The TOC was deep inside the Citadel; far enough that the sound of the formation of Vertibirds returning didn't reach them, the chatter of the pilots over the radio network the only indication to those present that the birds had landed back at the Citadel and begun loading the second wave to be transported west; with more supplies in tow. From one of the radios, Sarah's voice came through.

"Citadel base, this is Pride 6, how copy? Over."

"Pride 6, this is Citadel. Good copy. Over."

"Citadel, stand by for sitrep, over."

"Roger, Pride 6. Send it," the knight operating the radio replied.

"Citadel base, Pride 6. Landings have been made unopposed and the first wave has control of the airhead. Patrols have begun in the immediate vicinity and have yet to make contact. Engineers have begun putting up our CP and fortifications. Will advise when second airlift arrives, over," Sarah said, her voice coming through the static of the radio.

"Roger, Pride 6. Continue on mission, over." Elder Lyons nodded, relief overwhelming him at hearing his daughter's report. The landings had gone as well as he could have hoped. If there were raiders in the area, they had chosen to hide; and Reilly's mercenary company had been caught unawares and unable to interfere, even if they had wanted to. He looked over to Rothchild and smiled at his old friend; the Scribe returning the gesture with a knowing look in his eye. After everything they had done-the cross-country trek, the scourging of the Pitt, the schism within the chapter and the loss of support from the West Coast Brotherhood; they had finally reached the point they had always dreamt of. Finally, the Capital Wasteland stood on the brink of true unity; of being restored to something resembling functionality, with the accumulated wisdom of the Elder and Scribe Rothchild helping to guide the locals until they could take command of their own destinies. And in that moment, Elder Lyons felt something resembling pride; pride in all the struggles, pride in the men and women who had sacrificed under him and not lost faith in his vision.

* * *

Smith had not been exaggerating when he had told John that he was typically given good seats when he attended the fights in New Reno. He and John, accompanied by Gale and Bonzo, had been escorted to the front of the huge arena; one that held at least 2,500 people, John estimated. The looks on the faces of the fight fans had lit up as the group walked passed; people pointing and shouting out to Smith, who gave off the appearance of a man entirely in his element. It was a side to Smith that John had never seen. John's initial impression of him, from when they first met through their time travelling to Coalseam, had been of a man who was silent to the point of surliness. That image had begun to fade as they traveled through the Interior Desert and Smith had begun talking more; and by the time they reached New Reno John had come to see Smith as one of his closest friends. But to see him so readily comfortable with the adoration of a mass of people; to accept it while still retaining his composure and not showing any hint of discomfort, was new to John. It was something he had always had trouble with, and he had never faced the adulation of a crowd anywhere near as large as the one in the arena.

He and Smith had sat next to each other, Gale on John's other side and Bonzo beside her; the two of them keeping each other company while Smith and John sat engrossed by the fights. The match that had just ended had been a pair of welterweights, smaller men with exceptional speed and a readily apparent amount of skill. John had always enjoyed watching the lighter weight classes box when he watched the old holotapes with Gomez; finding their speed and finesse to be a pleasant contrast to the greater emphasis the higher weights placed on strength. The ring announcer, a man resplendent in what appeared to be a pre-war tuxedo, strode to the center of the ring; before confidently grasping the microphone and addressing the audience.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I please direct your attention to the center of the ring," he began, his sonorous voice echoing through the venue. "Before tonight's main event, there is a special guest in attendance that we would like to recognize," he continued, the arena falling silent, with hushed whispers making their way through the crowd. John's mind instinctively raced at the announcer's statement; so used to being the center of attention was he, before the realization hit him. _Smith. It's obviously Smith they're recognizing. Get over yourself, man. No one out here has the faintest idea who you are,_ he thought to himself. "Please join me in recognizing a true legend of the New Reno ring; the former Undisputed Heavyweight Champion-The Chosen One, Yudhajit Smith!" the announcer bellowed; his voice putting extra emphasis on the syllables of Smith's name for added effect. With a smile on his face, Smith stood from his seat and strolled confidently to the ring, ascending the steps and ducking through the ropes in one smooth motion. Turning in a circle, he raised his hands, waving to the crowd who, for their part, had gone wild at his introduction. A look of satisfaction was apparent on Smith's face; albeit one with a healthy dose of nostalgia mixed in. John smiled, recognizing the look. Smith missed it. He missed the adoration of the crowd, hearing the cheers for him. As if knowing it themselves, the crowd slowly began chanting his name.

"Yudhajit! Yudhajit! Yudhajit!" they chanted, the noise building to a crescendo as the crowd stomped their feet with each syllable of his name. Next to John, Gale looked around in wonder at the crowd; the sight obviously a new one to her.

"They love him," he yelled to her, leaning over so she could hear him over the sound of the crowd. Eyes still wide, she nodded back at him.

"I can see that! This is crazy!" she yelled back, straining to be heard above the noise echoing through the arena.

"Nothing like this in Coalseam?" he asked, the cacophony in the venue coming back down to a level of controlled chaos.

"No, we have fights; but my dad never let me go. Said it wasn't an appropriate place for a lady," she replied, rolling her eyes as she did. "If only daddy could see me now…" she continued, laughing as she trailed off. John laughed as well; going off what little Gale had said about her family, her father had sounded like something of an overbearing traditionalist. He thought back to the sense he had in Coalseam, that she was trying to escape something, and realized, not for the first time, that it was likely her father. Returning to his seat next to John, Smith looked flushed with enthusiasm; as if the adoration of the crowd had reinvigorated him.

"You never said anything about being a champion here," John said, leaning over to him. Smith laughed before nodding at him.

"How do you think I afforded that house? I took it up when I first came through town, when I was looking for the G.E.C.K., and when me and Miria moved back I got into it for the money. Turned out to be pretty good at it," he replied, shrugging his shoulders before turning his attention back to the ring; the two men who would be contesting the main event having just made their way to their corners. John, realizing that Smith was on some level uncomfortable talking about his success, turned his attention as well; hoping that the two massive heavyweights that would be fighting for the title could put on a good show.

* * *

Sarah looked around the landing zone they had inserted on, the engineers rapidly beginning to throw up temporary housing units after their work on the CP had been finished. They had only one radio, but it was enough to pick up traffic from both the Citadel and the incoming Vertibirds. The insertion had gone off without a hitch, and thus far none of the patrols she had sent out to sweep the immediate vicinity had met any sort of resistance. On some level it felt almost too easy. As the second flight of Vertibirds approached, her radio came alive; almost as if responding to her thought that things were proceeding too smoothly.

"Hey, Sentinel? We got something here you should see," McPherson's voice came through the radio. She couldn't help but smile slightly at the sound of his voice. He had recovered fairly quickly from the brutal fight he had engaged in with the Wanderer; and more than any other member of the Pride wanted to see their mission succeed and a stable state be built around something resembling moral principles; as opposed to the cult of personality that existed around the Lone Wanderer in these parts of the ruins. Putting aside the thoughts of her lover, she focused on what he had said. Something she needed to see was a rather ambiguous statement, she realized; but not necessarily a bad one.

"Roger, McPherson. What's your location?" she replied, nodding at Kodiak and Tomlinson to get ready to accompany her. Wordlessly, they fixed their helmets on their armor before picking up their weapons.

"About a half a klick east of the LZ, over," he replied.

"Got it, en route," she said, before dropping the transmission and putting her own helmet on. Turning to look at her two men, she nodded before setting off for where McPherson had said his patrol was waiting. The group moved silently, keeping alert despite the lack of contact that evening. It was possible any raiders were laying low and wouldn't hesitate to attack a group of three if they had enough numbers. The trip proceeded uneventfully, however, and McPherson waited in the street to meet them, his helmet off. Smiling at them, he nodded in the direction of one of the ruined buildings, the light of a fire flickering through the blasted out windows.

"In there," he began, gesturing at the building. "Go see for yourself." Sarah nodded uncertainly at him before making her way to the building, looking inside the doorway to find something that resembled a charnel house. The far wall of the room was missing and emptied onto the street; and the building had obviously been used as a raider den. The bodies of three of them lay on the floor, each with very obvious blade wounds, one of them decapitated and the others violently savaged. Only one had a weapon at hand, a 10mm submachine gun. The wall opposite the dead raider showed that he had desperately discharged the weapon at whatever had killed him, but judging by the wounds on the raider's body, he had failed to hit his assailant. Looking up to the group of knights that had discovered the bodies, she removed her helm, before speaking.

"Any sign of whoever did this?" she asked. The group met her with silence as McPherson strode back in.

"None, Sentinel. It's like whatever did this was a ghost," he replied. Sarah couldn't help but feel uneasy at the response.

"Huh. That's weird. It almost reminds me of what Gallows said the Wanderer did in Evergreen Mills. Can't be him, though. He'd be on the other side of the country by now," she replied, her face twisting as she concentrated on her thoughts, her eyes glazing as she went into her memories. She knew by the end of the war, after John had been injured, that someone else had taken over doing his recon missions for him. A woman, Sarah thought, although she couldn't remember her name. Uneasily, she remembered the reports that had come in during the dying days of the war. Raiders and slavers found butchered, mutilated beyond recognition. Jabsco, the head of Talon Company, killed by some unseen assailant on Ft. Bannister itself. _Can't be, though. They all left after the war. Gallows said she headed south. She's long gone, same as that zombie he used to work with, _Sarah thought. Looking back to McPherson and the others, she resumed her command presence.

"Alright, McPherson. Get your people back on mission. I'll be back at the CP. Keep me posted on anything else that happens, got it?"

"Got it, Sentinel," he replied, flashing her a hint of a smile before fixing his helmet to his armor and resuming command of his patrol.

* * *

Amata and the group from Vault 101 walked alongside Clancy and the Talon Company mercenaries, leaving Megaton behind and making their way to their respective homes. The rest of the evening had gone well; everyone taking advantage of the hospitality that Lucas Simms had ensured for them in Megaton. Amata, for her part, was anxious to return to the Vault. Being gone for two whole days made her extremely uncomfortable, although she knew that everything had likely remained quiet. As they made their way to the road that led away from Megaton, Clancy spoke up; voicing a question that had crossed the minds of many in the Wasteland over the four years that John had been out of the Vault.

"Hey, Overseer; mind if I ask you something?" he began, drawing Amata from her thoughts.

"What's up, Clancy?" she replied, surprised by his question.

"What's he like? The Wanderer, I mean. All we ever really knew him as was an enemy. It's kinda hard to imagine him as a regular person, the way you guys know him," he said. Amata laughed slightly, looking at Susie and Gomez; who had long had the same thought, but reversed.

"That's funny. All of us who grew up with him have a hard time imagining him as this Lone Wanderer that everyone seems afraid of," she began, before answering his question. "He was really just a normal person. Had a pretty quick temper when he was a kid, but he'd feel bad and apologize just as quickly. And he was smart; and really religious. That was actually his job in the Vault when we got old enough, he was the chaplain," she explained, drawing looks of disbelief from the Talon Company.

"He was a fuckin' preacher man?" Clancy asked, shocked. Amata let loose with a peal of laughter at his response.

"Yeah. He could quote the Bible off the top of his head," she replied. A moment passed before Officer Gomez spoke up.

"I was his boxing coach, when he was younger. He was always pretty athletic, and he was a hard worker. I'm guessing that's part of why he was able to do so well out here," he said. Clancy shrugged in response.

"Maybe. I never went hand to hand with him, luckily. But he killed enough Talon Company guys for me to know how dangerous he is. That's why I have a hard time imagining him as a chaplain," he replied; an uncomfortable silence overtaking the group from 101 as they realized, not for the first time, that the easy-going kid they had grown up with had disappeared out in the Wasteland. Amata knew that there were still vestiges of him in John's personality, but she also knew that there was a hardness in him that hadn't existed back in the Vault. Secretly, she hoped that once he returned to her and their child, she'd be able to convince him to just come home, back to the Vault, and be the person he was before he left again. She knew it was unlikely; but the hope still existed. Reaching the hill that led to Vault 101's entrance, she turned to the Talon Company commander.

"Clancy, it was a pleasure doing business with you," she began, extending her hand. He took it before responding.

"And you, Overseer. My guys are gonna start heading out to the D.C. ruins in the next few days; so don't be surprised if you start getting requests to patch people up soon," he replied; Amata nodding in acknowledgement.

"I'll make sure Elliot is ready for it. Safe travels back to Bannister," she replied, bidding the group a last farewell before turning and leading Susie and Gomez back into the entrance cave of their Vault.

* * *

Clover had moved through the shadows in the ruins, heading towards where the Vertibirds had been landing. Finding a suitable building, she silently moved through it, stealth field still active, and made her way to the top floor of the structure. From there, she looked out at what lay in front of her. The place was swarming with Brotherhood, she realized; and it had no appearance of being a short operation. They looked to be constructing some sort of outpost here in the Western ruins. Beneath her what could only be a patrol of seven knights made their way back to the space that the Brotherhood was building on. Raising her scope to get a better view, she recognized the sigil on the armor of the man in front. It was the symbol of the group Sarah Lyons ran. Lowering the rifle, Clover slid back into the shadows and began to process what she was seeing. If the Brotherhood was constructing an actual base to operate out of, and had dispatched that many troops to the region, it could only mean they were going to try to take total control of the D.C. ruins, she realized. Clover began running through her options; the instructions that the Wanderer had given her going through her mind. Even if no organized resistance existed, she knew she had to do something to disrupt their plans; at least in the hope that lover and the freak would be home before the Brotherhood could take over everything.

The realization came to her as she thought. The Brotherhood was a large force, a heavy one; one that did best with room to maneuver and employ their superior firepower. She would meet them asymmetrically. Strike from the shadows where they wouldn't expect it; observe their routes and look for patterns that she could use to walk them into any number of the variety of traps the Wanderer had taught her to employ. The D.C. ruins held no shortage of possibilities for a woman with her skillset. Conquest, her warrior personality, was positively giddy at the thought of the fight that lay in front of her. It promised to be a challenging one; but the thrill of a good fight, of staying one step ahead of an enemy that could easily kill her if they found her, was something she had missed while she had been away. With a smile playing across her face, Clover set off into the night; ready to begin her one-woman war on the Brotherhood.

* * *

**November 12, 2281**

They woke early in Smith's home in New Reno; the group of travelers convening around his dining room table to plot their route into New Vegas. On the table sat a map of Nevada, with Bonzo relaying what he had learned from the other traders in the city.

"Looping through the NCR and coming up the Long 15 is out. I heard there's a huge backup at the Mojave Outpost; NCR isn't letting caravans enter the Mojave heading to New Vegas because of unsafe conditions on the road," he began, John's heart dropping slightly at that.

"So how do we get to New Vegas, then?" he replied; Bonzo pointing at the map in response.

"We take Highway 95 south. It's a smaller road, but it connects direct to New Vegas and we wouldn't have to enter the NCR at all," he replied, tracing the outline of 95 on the map. The group silently showed their agreement with Bonzo's decision.

"How long is it to New Vegas?" Gale asked.

"'Bout a week or so," Bonzo replied. "It's not that bad of a trip. And you can see the lights from New Vegas when you're two days out," he continued; Gale's eyes widening in surprise.

"It's that bright?" she asked, disbelief on her face.

"You can't even imagine, kid. I'm gonna go with Fawkes to the caravan lot and get the wagon. If any of you have anything you want to bring from here, load it up; there's nothing between here and New Vegas," he said, before taking his leave with the super-mutant; leaving Smith, John, and Gale standing around the table. Smith looked to John before speaking.

"Want to take a look at my armory? We're going into an active warzone, I'm not planning on going in undersupplied," he said. John nodded his appreciation before following Smith up the stairs, Gale close behind. He opened the door to his arms room; Gale's jaw dropping the same way John's had upon seeing the amount of firepower Smith had stockpiled. Smith, for his part, made his way directly to his Enclave power armor and began breaking it down, preparing it for travel. Noticing the look in John's eye, he explained himself.

"This might be my last time in New Reno for a long time. After we're done in New Vegas and we get your problems sorted out, we're heading straight back to the Capital Wasteland. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to walk into however many fights we have in front of us without the best equipment," he said, before continuing. "Do you think using power armor would help you be better in a fight, with your knee the way it is?"

"Yeah," John replied. "Towards the end of the war the only way I could keep going was by wearing power armor; the servos in it help take some of the pressure off my knee," he continued.

"Then use my T-51b armor. We just have to be careful when we get to the NCR about hiding this stuff. They've got a running feud with the Brotherhood; and they're still rounding up the remnants of the Enclave out here and putting them into indefinite detention for war crimes."

"What's the deal with the Brotherhood and the NCR?" John asked, as he made his way to the T-51b armor and began placing it in the trunk Smith had brought into the room for their supplies.

"They were allies during the war with the Enclave; but after that things broke down. Disagreements over how technology should be used. Brotherhood was way better trained and equipped, but there just weren't enough of them compared to the NCR. They're mostly in hiding now. Rumors about a chapter down in the Mojave; but if there is, I've never seen them," he explained.

"Brotherhood sure does love their tech, don't they? At least out east they were trying to help ordinary people…mostly," John replied.

"Yeah, out here they couldn't care less about ordinary people. They're xenophobic to an extreme," Smith said, turning his attention to the weapons he had available to him. He immediately reached for the CZ57 minigun, placing it in the trunk with a sizable amount of ammunition. Looking around, his eyes rested on what John recognized was a model of plasma rifle; Smith picking it up and storing it in the trunk as well. Satisfied that he had the weapons he wanted, he turned to John. "Anything catch your eye?" he asked. John's eyes rested on what appeared to be a light machine gun, white and with the word BOZAR on the frame. Wordlessly, John picked it up, before looking at Smith for approval. Smith just smiled and nodded, approving the choice in weapons; John setting the weapon in the trunk in response.

"Well, I think we've got enough in here to take down a small army," John said, chuckling.

"That's the point," Smith replied. "When Fawkes and Bonzo get back we'll have them help us carry this shit out to the wagon. We need to avoid wearing the power armor as much as possible; but as we approach the Mojave it'd be a good idea to put it on," he continued.

"Why avoid wearing it so much?" John asked.

"Draws too much attention," Smith replied. "Maybe out east no one gives a shit; but the NCR has a serious hard-on for going after any groups it sees as enemies of the state. Last thing we need is someone running to the NCR Rangers about an Enclave remnant on the roads," he finished, throwing on the duster he typically wore on the road as he did.

"Are there any good options for New Vegas?" John asked. So far it sounded like each side had some serious faults; there was no clear good or bad in the Mojave.

"Not really," Smith said. "Legion are slavers, NCR has grown corrupt; which is kind of sad because I remember the NCR when it was a decent place. Mr. House, the guy that runs the Strip, has never been seen in public. So unless something comes out of the blue, some sort of wild card; New Vegas is in a tough spot," he explained. Before John could reply, the sound of Fawkes and Bonzo entering the house came up the stairs. "Alright, let's get this stuff into the wagon and hit the road," Smith said, looking at John.

* * *

**November 17, 2281**

The trip south along Highway 95 had been uneventful. John had almost wished for some sort of action just to break up the monotony of the desert. His Pip-Boy had begun picking up a faint radio signal earlier in the day; and by the time they stopped in the evening it was coming in clearly. Radio New Vegas, his Pip-Boy said. In the distance, to the south, the light from the city was visible on the horizon; an orange glow in the blackness of the night. Turning on the radio as they settled in to eat their dinner, he caught Dean Martin's distinct voice; belting out the last verses of one of his trademark tunes.

"_Ain't love a kick in the head?" _the voice crooned over the radio; the song ending and the DJ coming back on.

"_It's me again, Mr. New Vegas, reminding you that you're nobody 'til somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you," _the voice said, drawing a series of disgusted groans and eye-rolls from the group of travelers. _"It's just about time to get you some news," _the voice continued; John perking up at that. Anything that would provide him information about where they were going was welcome. _"A package courier found shot in the head near Goodsprings has reportedly regained consciousness, and made a full recovery. Now that is a delivery service you can count on," _the radio said; drawing a snort of derision from John.

"Yeah, ok. If his definition of 'full recovery' is drooling mess, maybe," John said, drawing laughter from the group. Smith, though, took no part in the laughter, instead looking lost in thought. "Hey, Smith, you alright?" John asked, drawing the man from his thoughts.

"Yeah. Just that story. I was just thinking how strange it'd be if there was a third of us now," he replied.

"Think you might be too optimistic? It sounds like the DJ didn't have many details. It's probably not even accurate," John said. He knew, from his own experience and training, what effect a gunshot wound to the head would have on someone. Unless the shooter was utterly incompetent; or the victim was extremely lucky, a full recovery was beyond unlikely. Still, what Smith had said weighed on his mind. _Who's to say someone else couldn't be that lucky, or have some sort of divine protection guiding them? You survived plenty of things you shouldn't have, _he thought to himself. John briefly allowed himself to dream about the possibility of there being a third person like him and Smith; someone who could be that wild card in the Mojave that they had discussed back in New Reno. The reality of where they were and the world they lived in snapped John out of that line of thinking. _It's unlikely. Don't even bother getting your hopes up. Better get used to being alone, _he thought as he settled onto his back to go to sleep; the lights of New Vegas like a beacon in the distance as he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

**Greetings from the Capital Wasteland, everyone! Been back in town for about a week and a half; went down into D.C. earlier this week and wandering around definitely helped get some of the creative juices flowing. So a couple notes here before people get angry at me:  
**

**Smith having a car: this is actually a quest in Fallout 2. You can show up in New Reno with a car and it gets ganked by one of the crime families, if I remember correctly. So yeah; they're rare but in the backstory some vehicles still do exist in the west.**

**Hope the dialogue for the Brotherhood when they were inserting wasn't too overboard; I tried to keep it somewhat faithful to how military radio traffic sounds while not going so far as to make it totally confusing to people unfamiliar with the military. **

**Anyway, hope you all enjoyed; any questions or comments or anything that needs clarification, let me know. Thanks for reading!**


	19. Luck Be a Lady

Achilles swept into the room, Cass beside him. Calmly, he lowered the 9mm submachine gun to his side as he walked toward the man slumped in front of them; Cass slowly moving forward next to him, shotgun at the ready, scanning for any more Chairmen that may be hiding in the room. Achilles stopped walking as he reached where Benny now sat; back to the wall, head lolling as blood stained the front of his suit. Cass's shotgun had caught him in the abdomen; with a short burst from Achilles' weapon slamming into his upper torso. The force of the shotgun blast had thrown Benny back against the wall, his blood streaking down it to where he now sat, desperately trying to maintain a hold on his consciousness. On some level, Benny had to know that the next time he lost consciousness would be the end of his life; and the erstwhile head of the Chairmen was nothing if not a relentless survivor.

"We're clear," Cass said, lowering her shotgun and turning to face Achilles. Traveling with the stranger had seemed better than sitting around drinking at the Mojave Outpost where she had been stranded by the NCR closing travel on the Long 15; but the man had said nothing about storming across the Mojave hunting down the people he claimed had tried to kill him. She and Boone, the other member of their party, had been run into exhaustion trying to keep up with the former Courier. Now that they had reached New Vegas she was only looking forward to getting a drink and, she hoped, the chance to sleep.

"Alright," he replied. "Mind giving me a minute alone in here so I can finish things?" Cass nodded at him in response; having no desire to see how Achilles planned on ending things with Benny after seeing what he had done outside Boulder City to Jessup and the other Great Khans.

"I'll be waiting with Boone in the hallway," she responded, turning and striding from the room. _Gods, she knows how to move, _he thought to himself, appreciatively watching her leave before turning to look at the dying man at his feet. His eyes alit upon the very distinctive handgun that Benny had tried to draw as he and Cass had raised their weapons on him. Achilles remembered looking down the barrel of the weapon, the night that Benny had tried to kill him. Dropping into a crouch at Benny's feet, he picked the handgun up; turning it over appreciatively in his hands as he did. The polished nickel pistol appeared to be a 9mm, with a pearl inlaid grip; a woman's portrait painted on the pearl. Ivy and floral patterns traced their way up the silver barrel of the weapon. Rather ostentatious for Achilles' tastes; but it was in unquestionably better condition than the 9mm that he carried, the one that Mitchell had given to him back in Goodsprings after he regained consciousness.

"This is the pistol you shot me with, right?" he asked, catching Benny by surprise.

"Yeah…" the dying man rasped back, blood forming a thin trickle from his mouth as he did.

"I don't blame you for it, so you know. If I had been in your position I'd have done the same," Achilles responded. "You just happened to fuck with the wrong guy. I'm not even mad. But I made a promise, you see," he continued, voice dropping to a whisper as he looked at Benny. "I promised the Red King that I'd kill you and everyone you ambushed me with if he protected me when you shot me. He did, and here we are. Don't worry, though. I don't plan on drawing out your death. You're lucky, really. Jessup and his crew died screaming," he rambled on, his words making little sense to Benny. The only thing that made sense to Benny was the smile plastered across Achilles' face as he looked at him; the same kind he'd seen on people who'd taken too much Jet for their own good. Still smiling, Achilles reached inside Benny's suit, pulling the Platinum Chip from where he had it stored in a pocket, holding it up between the two of them and turning it in his fingers.

"You hold the cards now, kid…" Benny faintly whispered, looking to Achilles from where his head now rested on his chest; his breathing growing increasingly shallow.

"You know House is paying me 1,000 caps to deliver this thing to him? I can't remember off the top of my head how much the original delivery fee was, but it wasn't that high. Side effect of being shot in the head, you see," Achilles replied, pulling off the maroon beret worn by members of the NCR's 1st Recon as he did; revealing a series of scars on the left side of his head. Benny's eyes widened slightly at the sight. "This I am mad about, Benny," Achilles continued, pointing to the circular scars that had formed where he had been shot; still bright pink and puckered looking. The man's head had obviously been shaved after being shot; Benny remembering him having long hair that fell passed his chin. "You fucked up my good looks," Achilles stated with an air of finality.

"Sorry…" Benny weakly replied. His life was beginning to slip away quickly now, Achilles knew.

"It's alright. You know, in a way you did me a favor. Those bullets kind of scrambled my memory. That and the fever that took me while I was recovering in Goodsprings and my past is a jumble now. I remember strange things, like people on crosses and a city exploding around me…I think that was the Battle of Hoover Dam," Achilles explained, smiling at Benny again. "Boone was there too, he and I have swapped some war stories. But shh!" he continued, holding up his finger to his lip as if shushing Benny, who had made no noise. "Boone doesn't know, but I was in the Legion. I remember wearing red armor and taking the head off an NCR trooper with a machete there," he said, his voice dropped to a dramatic whisper.

"Just fucking end it, kid," Benny replied weakly, imploring the Courier to put him out of his misery. Achilles silently looked at him for a moment before nodding in acquiescence.

"Really, you are quite lucky. In my past life I would have had you crucified. Just know that the ending of your pain here is only the beginning of your torment. An eternity of suffering awaits you in the afterlife at the hands of the Red King," Achilles said, standing back up as he did. Placing the 1st Recon beret back on his head, Achilles pulled back the slide on Benny's pistol, chambering a round in it. Benny mustered the last of his strength to look up at the man he had tried to kill. He may have been many things, but he was no coward. He would meet his death with his eyes open. Taking a step back, Achilles trained the handgun on the middle of Benny's forehead. "_Vale, _Benny," he said, before pulling the trigger. The sound of the weapon echoed through the room, the wall Benny was leaned against splattered with bone fragments and his brains as they emptied out the back of his ruined skull; the corpse slipping onto its side as the life escaped it. Achilles looked at his dead enemy, a feeling of finality overcoming him. Holstering the pistol, he lifted his palms into the air, eyes closed and head bowed as he prayed.

_Mars, hear me. I sacrifice this man's life to you, in repayment of the gift that you granted me. Accept this sacrifice and I will conquer in your name; I will vanquish every enemy placed in front of me and offer you their blood and their souls._

Finishing his prayer, Achilles dropped his hands back to his side; sparing a moment to look at the dead man one last time. A distinct smell had filled the room, the smell of Benny's bowels having voided in death. Grimacing in disgust, Achilles turned and walked from the room; finding Cass and Boone waiting at the end of the hallway. They turned to face him as he approached; the smile on his face at odds with the blood that had sprayed onto the front of his black, leather armor. Cass looked vaguely dismayed at his expression; while Boone, as ever, betrayed no emotion.

"It's done," Achilles said, leading the way as his two companions fell in behind him. "Let's get back to the Lucky 38. I think we could all use a break after this," he finished. Boone merely grunted, while Cass snickered.

"Yeah, you could say that. I need a God damn drink," she responded, the elevator doors closing as she spoke.

"The Lucky 38 has a well-stocked bar, Cass. Mr. House has been most generous in his accommodations," Achilles replied. _I shall have to be sure to repay his…generosity, _the former _frumentarius _thought.

* * *

_Goodsprings has fended off a mob of escaped convicts after organizing an impromptu militia…_

_Primm formally swore in a new sheriff today…_

_Several unidentified aircraft were spotted flying over the REPCONN test site…_

_A hostage crisis between the NCR and the Great Khans was resolved peacefully…_

With every news update that Mr. New Vegas aired, Smith became more convinced that someone else like them; someone in the beginning stages of their own transformation into a legend, was at large in the Mojave. John, for his part, had simply welcomed the news segments as further information about where they were heading; giving him insight into the daily happenings in the Mojave Wasteland. After four months on the road, the last two days of their trip to New Vegas had passed excruciatingly slowly; the lights of New Vegas and eventually the sight of a tower soaring into the sky serving as a beacon; reminding the caravan how close and yet very far away they still were to their final destination. They had arrived, though, and John looked around the lot of the Crimson Caravans yard, Bonzo having left to speak to Alice McLafferty, the recently appointed head of Crimson Caravans in the Mojave. For the first time in years, John had put on power armor; drawing stares and sideways looks from those around him. With the power armor donned, he had been able to walk alongside the caravan and help unload it; the armor's hydraulics compensating for his damaged knee. Bonzo returned with McLafferty as he, Smith, Fawkes, and Gale finished unloading the caravan; their contracts in hand. Bonzo and Smith had talked the Crimson Caravan office in Kansas City into giving Gale a contract, ensuring her some sort of payment when they reached New Vegas.

"Let's see what we have here…" McLafferty began, looking over the merchandise. John noticed the way her eyes lingered on his power armor as well; Smith having explained to him that Crimson Caravans had deep roots in the NCR and the war the NCR had fought with the Brotherhood; the only faction in the region that remained and wore power armor following the destruction of the Enclave. Finishing her count, McLafferty beckoned them to follow her into the office to receive payment.

"Bonzo, Smith; 2,500 caps a piece," she began, sliding purses filled with caps toward the two men. "Fawkes, Thompson; 2,000 a piece," she continued, looking at John and Fawkes as she handed them their payment. "And Ms. Campbell…1,000 caps," she concluded, handing Gale her money. Gale's contract had been an entry level one; the only kind Smith and Bonzo had been able to secure, carrying with it a significantly less pay guarantee. Gale, for her part, didn't complain; between the money John had given her in Kansas City and this she had more than enough to enter the Strip. Bidding farewell to McLafferty, the group left the office; assembling in a circle outside as they did. It was evening, and in the background the lights of New Vegas were coming on, shining their light across the land and into the sky in a way both John and Gale had never seen before.

"So what's our next move?" John asked, deferring to the more experienced members of the party.

"We get a place to stay first, on the Strip. The Followers of the Apocalypse are based at the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside, so tomorrow morning we can go over there and get you checked out," Bonzo replied.

"What're the places to stay?" Gale asked, eyes looking at the skyline of New Vegas with excitement.

"There's the Tops, the Ultra-Luxe, and the Gomorrah as far as casinos go. There's also Vault 21, which is a bit cheaper but isn't as nice as the big resorts," Bonzo explained. John perked up at the mention of the Vault.

"What's the deal with Vault 21?" he asked, drawing a sigh and an eye roll from Bonzo as Smith suppressed a laugh.

"It was a Vault, like the one you grew up in. Except when House came out and started rebuilding the Strip, he won control of the Vault in a blackjack game and forced everyone out. The lady who runs it now convinced him to keep it open as a hotel, so that's what it is."

"A Vault hotel?" John asked, already disliking House for having taken over the Vault. Twisted societal experiments or not, John couldn't help but sympathize with those who had grown up in Vaults and knew nothing of the outside; their naïveté regarding the Wasteland triggering his instinct to protect them.

"Yeah, like I said, it's cheap but low end. I'd recommend the Tops; the Gomorrah is run by a bunch of two-bit thugs and the Ultra-Luxe gives me the fuckin' creeps," Bonzo responded.

"If it's all the same, I think I'd like to go check out Vault 21," John responded. There was a moment of silence as Bonzo stared at him in disbelief; a smirk playing across Smith's face as he waited for Bonzo to explode.

"Seriously kid? You spend 19 years growing up in a Vault, travel across the Wasteland to New Vegas, and the first thing you want to do is go back down into a Vault?" he asked, still incredulous. John felt his cheeks burn slightly at that line of questioning, shrugging in response to it.

"I guess?" he replied, drawing another frustrated look from Bonzo. Gale spoke up on John's behalf.

"I wouldn't mind seeing what the inside of a Vault is like," she said, Bonzo staring at her in outrage.

"What it's like?! Dark and cramped. There, now you know, and I just saved you some money," Bonzo replied, his voice rising as he did. Seeing the looks of determination on John's and Gale's faces, he threw his hands up in the air. "You know what? Fine. You two go have a lovely little Vault adventure. The rest of us are going to be at the Tops. When you get checked in and settled into a room, meet us there," he said, before turning and taking off towards the exit of the Crimson Caravan's compound. Smith and Fawkes remained, looking at John and Gale.

"So you can take the kid out of the Vault, but not the Vault out of the kid; huh John?" Smith began, chuckling. "I'd recommend taking off that armor, though. There's NCR MPs down by Vault 21; you're in for trouble if they see Brotherhood power armor," he explained. John nodded at him, grateful for the warning.

"Mind helping me get out of this thing?" he asked, Smith moving to begin removing the plates of armor from John's body. The two men became the subject of finger pointing and whispers as John stripped out of the armor and down to his underwear, before redressing in clothes more appropriate for civilian wear. After storing the power armor in the trunk he and Smith had loaded in New Reno, he turned to face Fawkes and the Chosen One.

"Meet you guys at the Tops in a bit?" he asked.

"Yeah, we'll probably be in the Aces Theater. The Tops is at the other end of the Strip from Vault 21, you can't miss the sign," Smith replied. Satisfied that he'd be able to find his companions, he grabbed the bag he had packed in the Capital Wasteland and set off with Gale toward Freeside and the entrance to the New Vegas strip.

* * *

Clover watched the Brotherhood patrol from where she lay in wait, hand resting on the detonator for the improvised explosive device she had planted along their patrol route. She had spent the week observing the Brotherhood, taking note of their patrol routes, the times of their patrols, the normal amount of Knights on a patrol and the time it took for reinforcements to arrive in support of their comrades when they made contact. There had only been three firefights she had witnessed that week between the Brotherhood and the raiders in the area; most of the raiders opting to hide rather than attempt to shoot it out with the better armed Knights. Only one firefight had seemed difficult for the Brotherhood; and as Clover watched, she realized what the cause of their difficulties was. She estimated, watching the movements of the Brotherhood squad in the firefight, that at least half of the patrol consisted of more inexperienced junior Knights who had not been in the Brotherhood at the height of the war and lacked actual combat experience. It seemed to her that they had partnered experienced Knights and Paladins with newer members of the Brotherhood to give them on the job training, as it were. This would be of benefit to her, she knew; the hesitation of the inexperienced soldiers providing all the delay she would need after springing the trap she had prepared.

Clover looked down through the scope of her rifle, perched in a blasted out window on the second floor of a ruined apartment complex; the stealth field of her apparel making her invisible in the shadows. Below lay the kill zone she had prepared; an IED composed of a fusion battery salvaged from a car's engine strapped to a block of C4 waiting under a shallow layer of debris along the Brotherhood's patrol route. It was a simplistic design; one the Wanderer had taught her to improvise based on the availability of materials. There were a reasonably large number of fusion batteries that were still functional in the wreckage of many of the cars in the area, and the design of them was inherently unstable. They were prone to overloading and exploding after sustaining damage; she had seen it happen several times from stray gunfire during firefights alongside the Lone Wanderer. The force of the C4 going off would destabilize the reactor and resulted in an explosion comparable to that of a Mini-Nuke, killing everything in the immediate vicinity of the blast and releasing a brief spike of radiation. Looking down the street from her kill zone, she spied the Brotherhood patrol approaching; the same time as they did every night. _They've gotten sloppy since the war ended. Victory has defeated them, _she thought to herself, the anticipation of the killing she was about to do building. Sliding back the charging handle on her rifle and chambering a round, she rested the rifle on the windowsill for added support while waiting for the Brotherhood to enter the kill zone. The Knights advanced in a loose formation; albeit one that was still rather tight due to the narrow street they found themselves upon. She waited, impatiently, as the main body of the patrol entered the blast radius of the explosion before depressing the detonator in her hand; the response, a moment later, being a blinding flash of light and an explosion that sent no less than four of the Knights into the air, missing limbs as they were caught in the explosion. She swiveled her rifle, spotting a Knight at the rear of the formation attempting to regain his footing, and opened fire; the burst from it tearing through the weakened armor and cutting the Knight down. Bullets began impacting the façade of the building around her; the two knights at the front of the formation having seen the distinct muzzle flash of her rifle and opened fire on the building. Sinking back into the building, she ran down the hallway she was in; drawing her shocksword as she leapt through the window at the end of the hallway.

Her stealth field had served her well as she rolled with the impact of her landing; the Knights unaware that she had escaped their fire and had outflanked them. Clover knew she had to act quickly; in all the firefights she had witnessed that week it had never taken more than five minutes for reinforcements to arrive from the outpost the Brotherhood had established. Racing forward, she came around behind the Knight that had been walking point and brought her shocksword down on the weaker armor around his neck; cleaving through it and severing his spinal cord. The lone surviving Knight turned toward the shadow that had just killed his comrade; Clover noticing the sigil of the Lyons Pride on his armor as she swung her sword down in an arc. The blow landed squarely on the chest plate of the armor and discharged an electric current through the armor; paralyzing the Knight as his body went rigid and he fell to the ground. Seizing on her opportunity, Clover leapt forward; turning her sword downward as she did and driving all her weight into it as it pierced through the chest plate of the Knight's armor and punched through his sternum. The electricity on the sword discharged again; the shock stopping the beating of the man's heart. Pulling her sword from his body, Clover swung it in an arc; wicking the blood off of it and splattering it on the gray pavement before she sheathed it in one smooth motion. Dropping into a crouch over the man's body she listened; the wind whistling through the canyons of the ruins, carrying with it the shouts of the Brotherhood reinforcements approaching in the distance. Without so much as a backwards glance Clover turned and fled into the night, heading for one of the safe houses she had established in the ruins over the course of the week.

* * *

Freeside was a slum the likes of which John had never seen; and he had been in some serious shitholes in his day. He and Gale made their way through the streets quickly, his hand never far from his where his pistol rested on his hip as they made their way to the north entrance of the Strip. In his peripheral vision he could tell some of the people on the streets were eyeing him and Gale; trying to determine if the outsiders would be easy marks. The assault rifle Gale held at the low ready, mixed with John's apparent readiness to draw his sidearm, deterred any would-be assailants as they rounded the corner and began to make their way down the road that led to the Strip. In the distance John could see a large, multicolored gate with a high fence and wall running alongside it; the entry control point to the Strip, neon letters flashing across the top of it, welcoming them to New Vegas. As they approached, Frank Sinatra's unmistakable voice began to croon out from his Pip-Boy; set to Radio New Vegas. The song slowly built up as they approached; John recognizing the tune as he reached the massive robot that guarded the entrance, a make of robot that he had never before seen.

"Submit to a credit check or present your passport before proceeding to the gate. Trespassers will be shot," the robot said; in a voice unlike any John had heard from a machine before. Reaching into his bag, he pulled forth the lockbox containing his caps, presenting it to the robot.

"Here you go," he said in reply to the robot's demand. The robot paused for a moment before offering the box back to John.

"Thank you, sir. You may proceed," it replied. John returned the lockbox to his bag and walked past the robot, turning to watch as it repeated the process with Gale. Her credit check approved, she rejoined him; walking toward the gate as the brass section of the band on his radio came alive, blaring their noise out into the neon-soaked evening. As the gate swung open before them, bringing the Strip into view in all its glory, Frank Sinatra began belting out the tune.

_Luck, be a lady tonight! _

Looking at Gale with amazement in his eyes, he smiled quickly; before stepping through the gate and into New Vegas with her. He hoped that, as Sinatra sang, luck would be a lady to him over the coming days.

* * *

Emily had known that going to the Four-Horned Bull would be a mistake; and yet she had been unable to turn down the invite from Julie Moore when she had asked her to come out with their other friends. As soon as they had walked through the door her eyes had gone to the bar, to the seat that Achilles had sat in the night she met him, all those months ago; as if hoping that everything that had happened in the previous month would be proven to be a huge misunderstanding and he would be waiting there for her, smile on his face the way it always had been. She had begun pounding through the drinks as the night went along; her eyes continuing to go to the bar and her mind going back to that hot summer night. _You promised me. You promised me you'd come home. That you'd made that run 100 times before and always been fine. _Her thoughts kept being drawn away, yelling at Achilles in her head as she remembered everything; allowed herself to properly feel for the first time in a month. Aside from the day that she'd received the news she'd not allowed herself to cry; attempting to force the thoughts from her mind by burying herself in her work. Julie and Dan Parker had attempted to encourage her to grieve normally, to consider talking to a counselor; but she had met them with refusal. For the first time in 19 years she remembered her Brotherhood training; grateful for it as she remembered how she had learned to compartmentalize pain and loss, to put it away somewhere so that she could remain functional. The alcohol was breaking down those doors; and as the night progressed she became more detached from the conversation and her friends, her mind finally processing everything that had happened. Julie continued to glance her way as the night went along, her concern mounting; until finally, seeing a single, silent tear rolling down Emily's cheek, she excused herself and escorted her friend out into the night to walk her home.

"You can't keep all of this bottled up, Emily. I know you loved him, and I don't think Achilles would have wanted you to hurt so badly," Julie said.

"Cause you knew him so well, right Jules?" Emily replied, the alcohol making her snider than she'd normally be to her friend.

"Of course not, Em. But from when I did meet him he seemed like he really loved you. And I think he'd want you to be happy," she said, putting an arm around Emily's shoulder as she did. Emily leaned into it, letting her friend help support her as they made their way back to the Followers' facility.

"I think I just need to get out of here, Julie. This entire place is…haunted now," Emily said as she opened the door to her room; kicking her shoes off as she entered before collapsing face down on her bed. A moment later, as Julie looked on, Emily's body began to shake; the sobs muffled by her pillow. Julie's heart sank watching it. Emily was one of her best friends; one of the only people in the Followers who knew that Emily had grown up in the Brotherhood of Steel. Wordlessly, she made her way to the bed and sat alongside her friend, running her hand over Emily's hair as she tried to ease her friend's heartache.

* * *

Liam McPherson led his quick reaction force to where the ambushed patrol had said they were encountering enemy fire. The entire message had been garbled, the sounds of gunfire in the background clear over the line; and before Sarah had to say anything he had stormed out of their compound with the squad he'd been detailed too, racing to help his comrades. As they approached he could see they were too late. There was a huge crater in the middle of the road; and strewn around it were the bodies of the seven Knights who had been on the patrol. He scanned the bodies, desperately trying to find Knight Roberts; the most junior member of the Lyons Pride and the only one to have not been in the Brotherhood during the war. He had been a promising soldier and excelled throughout his basic training as an Initiate, eventually being recommended to Sarah for the Lyons Pride by no less than Star Paladin Gunny himself. Liam had taken Roberts under his wing once he got over his resistance to a Wastelander in his squad; trying to mentor the younger man and make him true-blue Brotherhood, as the old saying went. At the front of where the ambush had occurred, he spotted his friend; the sigil of the Lyons Pride emblazoned on his armor, the body lying motionless on its back. He approached it quickly; kneeling down next to it as the QRF that he had led fanned out and began checking for any signs of life. McPherson was surprised, looking at Roberts' body, that there was only one visible wound; a puncture wound that went through his chest plate. _God dammit, _he swore to himself; rising back to his considerable height and turning to face the rest of the squad.

"Anything?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nothing, sir. They're all dead," one of the men responded. Nodding at him, McPherson turned and opened a radio channel to the command post.

"Pride 6, this is QRF, do you copy?" he queried.

"QRF, this is Pride 6. What'd you got, McPherson?" Sarah's voice replied. Normally the sound of her voice lifted his spirits; but the sight he beheld before him negated that. This had obviously been a well-coordinated and overwhelming attack on the Brotherhood.

"We were too late, Sarah. They're all dead, Roberts included," he responded; dropping his radio discipline as he spoke. There was a moment of silence on the line before she responded.

"How is that possible?" she asked, the shock evident over the radio.

"It looks like it was well coordinated. Someone set up an ambush; set off an explosion and then finished off the survivors," he replied.

"Any signs of what kind of explosives were used?" she asked, suppressing her grief at the loss of comrades and attempting to glean any sort of information that could save lives in the future.

"Best guess, going by the size of the crater and how badly damaged some of the bodies are? Looks almost like they got hit by a Fat Man," he replied. "I'll brief you when I get back to the CP. We need a CASEVAC right now for the bodies."

"Roger, McPherson. I'll get on the line with the Citadel and send up a report. I'll let you know when the CASEVAC is en route. Out," she responded, the line closing as she did. Turning back to the squad, McPherson resumed his command presence; suppressing the anger and sadness he felt and locking it away, the way that he had been trained to.

"Start getting the bodies together. Our casualty collection point is going to be here. CASEVAC is inbound," he said; the Knights under his command responding by beginning to collect the bodies of their fallen brothers.

* * *

Achilles sat alone at the dining room table, turning over the Mark of Caesar in his hands. No less than Vulpes Inculta himself had given it to him, as he had exited the Tops after killing Benny. He had never met Vulpes before, and had only known him by reputation; but if Vulpes was to be believed Caesar himself had taken note of the frantic trek across the desert Achilles had undertaken in the pursuit of vengeance. Sighing to himself, he places the Mark around his neck, tucking it inside his armor before rising to his feet. Cass and Boone had both gone back to the Tops to get a drink and relax in the Aces Theater; and he couldn't begrudge them that. He knew, on a logical level, that the past week or two had been extremely hard on them. They had slept little, stopped only when absolutely necessary, and essentially blasted their way across the Mojave on the way to New Vegas. It was only right that he give them some time to relax as he pondered his next move. He had been informed, entering the Strip, that the NCR's ambassador wanted to meet with him; and he had figured that would be a good place to start the evening, if only for a laugh. He would welcome anything to take away from the burning rage he still felt at Benny for stealing from him. Not so much the Platinum Chip; Achilles had no particular attachment to that trinket, but rather to the life that was taken from him. While he was unconscious in Goodsprings, and in his dreams over the course of the weeks he had been awake, a face had come to him. A woman's face, distant and yet familiar; and yet he had no name for it, no recollection of who it was other than that the face was important to him. The same was true for other aspects of his life. He knew he was a Legionary; he remembered aspects of his training, battles and raids he had participated in. But the details of it were lost to him, as were the emotions associated with it. Had he liked being a Legionary? Did he feel loyal to Caesar? He couldn't remember, and it drove him mad. He hoped that visiting Fortification Hill and meeting Caesar would at the least refresh his memory; perhaps cause a connection to be formed between memories that were lost to him and the present. Heading for the elevator, Achilles pushed the thoughts from his mind; focusing instead on what was immediately in front of him. Meet Crocker, the NCR ambassador, and then join Cass and Boone at the Tops. Everything else would wait.

* * *

Entering the visitor center of Vault 21, it took a moment for John's eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Sitting behind a desk, wearing what was immediately recognizable as a Vault suit, was a pretty blonde woman. Looking up at the visitors that had entered her hotel, the woman spoke.

"Hi there! I'm Sarah, Sarah Weintraub, welcome to Vault 21! What can I do for you?" she asked in a welcoming voice; stepping out from behind her desk as she did. John took the woman in as she approached; with it occurring to him, not for the first time, that Vault-Tec had perhaps designed the Vault suits for aesthetics rather than practicality. He had yet to see one that didn't hug the wearer's frame; Amata's had always shown exactly how well shaped she was.

"I heard this was a hotel now and just wanted to check it out," John replied, extending his hand to the woman. "I'm from a Vault too, but I haven't been back in years," he explained as she shook his hand. Sarah's eyes lit up at his explanation.

"Oh, no way! What Vault are you from?" she excitedly asked, the Pip-Boy on his forearm verifying the story he had told.

"I'm from Vault 101; it's a Vault that was built right outside of Washington, D.C.," he explained, smiling at his fellow Vaultie as he did.

"Wow! So what brings you all the way out here from there?" she asked.

"Well, D.C. is kind of a mess after the war; so I came out here after my friend told me about it," he began, giving her the most cursory explanation he could think of. "But my friend and I need a place to stay tonight. Do you have any rooms available?" he asked.

"I sure do! Let me just ring you up and you can go drop your stuff off," she replied, making her way to the cash register. One of the beauties of the Vaults was that, regardless of location, he was confident in his ability to find his way around. He needed no tour, no explanation of where anything was; most Vaults that he had been in followed a common design scheme. Handing Sarah the necessary caps for the room, he received a key in return.

"Your room's down in the old living quarters. Everything through there and the atrium is open, but a lot of the corridors are filled in with concrete now," she explained, somewhat apologetically.

"How'd that happen?" he asked.

"When Mr. House won the Vault he wanted to force us all out and fill the Vault with concrete. I nearly went ape on him and convinced him to let me keep the place open as a hotel. But all the lower levels are filled with concrete now," she explained. A brief flash of anger went through John at that explanation.

"He forced all the dwellers out into the Wastes?" he asked; his anger rising at this man's complete disregard for human life. He knew, from experience, that most Vault dwellers had a small chance of surviving the Wasteland.

"Yeah, a lot settled on the Strip or in Freeside. My brother actually lives in the warehouse next store," she replied.

"I see. Well, Sarah, thank you for your help. It's been a long trip though, so we're going to get down to our room. It was great to meet you, though. I always like talking to another Vault dweller," he said, flashing a smile and receiving a slight blush in response. Taking the lead, Gale followed him down into the Vault; her eyes looking around the narrow corridors as they made their way to the room.

"You lived in this small a space for 19 years?" she asked, the surprise in her voice evident.

"Yeah. It's not hard when it's the only thing you know," he replied, sliding the key to their room as they reached it. With a hiss, the door lifted up; revealing a well-furnished, maintained room with two twin beds in it. Secretly, John was relieved by that; he was afraid that Gale would misinterpret things if they had to share a bed. Throwing his bags onto the bed, he turned back to Gale, who had plopped onto the free bed. "Want to get cleaned up and then go meet everyone?" he asked; already feeling slightly claustrophobic being back in a Vault. It was bringing back far more memories than he'd care to face.

"Sure…if I knew where the showers were," she replied, laughing. Gale was still giddy at being in New Vegas. Just escaping Coalseam had been enough for her; she was still having a hard time believing that she, the daughter of a coal miner, had made it out of the valley and into the real world.

"Grab some fresh clothes out of your bag and I'll show you where the showers are," he replied, smiling at her as he did. She felt a brief flash of excitement at his response; before realizing that he hadn't meant they'd shower together. _Of course not. He's still hooked on that Vault girl that doesn't deserve him, _she thought, following John out into the corridor and towards the women's showers. The conflict inside Gale continued; part of her wanting to respect that he loved someone else, and part of her desperately hoping she could win him over. As they walked, Gale remembered the song that had played when they first entered the Strip. _Luck, be a lady with me…_

* * *

**So New Vegas is going to take a few chapters to cover. There's just too damn much going on there and what not to cover in one chapter.**

**Also, although he's going to factor in a bit while they're in New Vegas, the Courier isn't actually going to be a main character here. His story, the story of New Vegas, is just too much to cover while also trying to tell the story of the Wanderer's journey. I'm actually considering trying to write a novelization of New Vegas which would tell Achilles' full story arc; so if there'd be interest in that, let me here it.**

**I'm going to try to get this story finished relatively quickly, I want to have it all written and this story completed by September 3rd. **

**Anyway, thoughts, feedback, let me hear it. Thanks for reading, everyone! **


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